


Three People In A Marriage

by ReganX



Category: The Tudors
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 183,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReganX/pseuds/ReganX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Pope Clement had agreed to allow Henry to take a second wife if he didn't annul his marriage with Katherine... and Henry accepted? AU fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is, first and foremost, a work of fan fiction, by which I mean that it is based primarily on the characters and events in the show rather than on the historical personages and events that inspired it so, with regard to things like the characters' ages and appearances, the sequence of events, etc, I'll be going with the show's canon rather than real life, although it's only fair that I warn you that I will be taking a lot of liberties with some things to suit my twisted, demented purposes.
> 
> This story begins between the end of episode 1.06 and the beginning of episode 1.07, which I'm setting in the spring of 1528.

_In life, every decision we make will have an impact on our lives. Some of these decisions have a small impact but others have the potential to have an enormous impact on our own lives and sometimes on the lives of countless others. Sometimes, that change is for the better. Other times, that change is for the worse. Sometimes, the choices we make can have consequences that we could never have foreseen._

_Giulio di Giuliano de Medici, better known as Pope Clement VII, is about to make a decision that will change the world…_

**_14th April 1528_ **

The request was an absurd one. There was no other way to describe it.

Clement didn't need to read the bulls to know that their content was objectionable. One look at Dr Knight's face told him that.

The man charged with delivering the missives to His Holiness Pope Clement VII, head of the Catholic Church, descendant of St Peter and God's holy representative on Earth, was clearly aware of the contents of the two bulls he presented to him and it was plain that he was uncomfortable with the idea of handing such documents over to the pope. Had it not been for his duty to his King and his oath to deliver the bulls to their intended recipient, Clement wondered if the other man would have preferred to hold on to the documents, or even to destroy them and pretend that bandits had waylaid him on his journey and robbed him of the bulls left in his charge.

Clement certainly wished that he had.

He spoke kindly to Dr Knight as he dismissed him, holding out his hand to allow the other man to kiss his ring and laying a hand on his head to give him his blessing as he knelt before him before instructing one of the few attendants left to in the tiny papal court in exile to find suitable lodgings for him and for the other members of his party for the night.

It was no fault of his that his royal master had charged him with such a difficult and uncomfortable task, after all.

The first document was straightforward enough, although its recipient didn't care for the almost demanding, barely respectful tone in which it was written. It was a request from King Henry of England, asking Clement to give him permission, once he was granted his annulment – which he seemed to be certain would be the case, Clement noted, not without a measure of amusement – for him to marry any woman he chose, even one who would normally be forbidden to him on the grounds of his prior relationship with one of her relatives.

This was not particularly surprising. Like many people in Europe, Clement had heard rumours about the King of England's infatuation with one of Queen Katherine's ladies-in-waiting, the daughter of one of his ambassadors and the younger sister of a woman who had been his mistress for a brief time. If gossip was to be trusted, Mistress Anne Boleyn refused to follow in her sister's footsteps and become the King's mistress, even when she was offered the title of maitresse en titre, and, as he could not bear the thought of losing her, could not leave the girl be and look elsewhere for his pleasures as any other man would, he must therefore make her his bride, even if he was required to set aside his loving wife of many years and the mother of his beloved child to do this.

Clement had enough of a sense of humour to be amused by the fact that King Henry requested a papal dispensation that would allow him to marry his former mistress' sister, despite the fact that he was arguing that his marriage to his brother's widow was prohibited by God's law and therefore invalid, even though he was given a dispensation to cover his affinity with Queen Katherine before their marriage. Like many men, he was able to shut his eyes to the unpleasant fact, to ignore the idea that the woman he desired was forbidden to him on the same grounds as the woman he was trying to rid himself of, willing to reject the power of one dispensation to remove the stain of sin from his union while requesting another.

The dispensation he wanted could be granted with little difficulty, though it was one that King Henry would not be able to take advantage of without permission to marry his beloved.

However, despite his seeming confidence that the annulment he requested would be granted to him, it seemed as though King Henry was prepared for the fact that it might not be, perhaps aware that, as a virtual prisoner in the Emperor's power, Clement could not risk offending Charles by granting an annulment that would make his aunt's marriage of many years invalid, bringing shame and dishonour on his family by declaring that she had conceived many children outside of wedlock and that Princess Mary, Queen Katherine's only living child and the Emperor's first cousin, was a bastard, but he had a solution for that.

He wanted to be allowed to take a second wife.

He made his request as though it was a simple, reasonable compromise, in the event that Clement could not allow him the annulment he desired, as though he was proposing a logical solution to his problem rather than asking God's representative to sanction bigamy.

King Henry must truly have been infatuated with this woman, Anne Boleyn, to even consider making such a request, Clement decided, remembering a time, not long ago, when the King of England had seized the opportunity to defend the papacy against Martin Luther's slanders, for which he was rewarded with the title of _Fidei Defensor_ , Defender of the Faith, a title he took great pride in.

If he was prepared to take such a step in order to marry Anne Boleyn, Clement knew that he would not be willing to allow his desire to be thwarted, no matter what the cost was.

If he couldn't obtain permission to take her as his second wife, then he would continue to push for an annulment in order to have her as his only spouse, refusing to take 'no' for an answer until he was free of Queen Katherine and could marry Anne. The annulment could not be granted, not under the present circumstances, for fear of offending the Emperor but, at the same time, if he found in favour of Queen Katherine, Clement knew that he would lose the love and loyalty of King Henry, who could prove to be a dangerous enemy if he so chose.

Worse still, there were whispers that if the King of England couldn't get satisfaction in this matter from the papal courts, he might be prepared to take the drastic step of abandoning his allegiance to the pope, following in the footsteps of the Lutheran heretics and separating from the Church in Rome, taking England with him.

That could not be allowed, especially now, at a time when the Church needed to stand strong and united against the threat of heresy, and against those who would sow seeds of discord among the faithful in the hopes of luring them away from the true Church.

Clement was also not unaware of King Henry's genuine concerns about his lack of a healthy male heir. He had just one living child but that child was a daughter and, while there _were_ precedents for a woman to rule in her own right, Clement believed that this was unnatural and this was an opinion he shared with many others. England had never been ruled by a Queen and the country's history was littered with the tragedies that had inevitably followed when a sonless King tried to pass on his throne to his daughter.

If King Henry died leaving Princess Mary as his only heir, there would be a real risk that civil war would follow, tearing the country apart and taking countless lives.

If this could be prevented, it should be done but although the civil war would be averted if this Anne was able to give King Henry a legitimate son, Clement still couldn't feel comfortable with the idea of allowing bigamy.

But did he have a choice in the matter?

If King Henry was so determined to marry Anne, he would find a way to do so.

It would solve many problems if Queen Katherine was prepared to retire to a convent, as Jeanne, wife of Louis of France had before her; she could enjoy all the comforts she wanted at a religious house of her choice and Clement would be able to release her from her earthly marriage in order to allow her to become a Bride of Christ and to allow King Henry to remarry and father a son and heir but he doubted that she would be willing to accept this. Cardinal Wolsey was a shrewd man. If he thought that this might work, he would already have proposed the idea. Queen Katherine was the daughter of Isabella of Castile, so she would surely see no reason why her own daughter could not be as strong a ruler as her mother was.

Another option was to allow the trial to proceed but to delay it as much as possible, sending a legate to help try the case in England, giving him strict orders to allow the English court to find in favour of the marriage by all means but, if it looked as though they might declare it invalid, to stop the trial before it could declare a verdict and refer it to the papal court for judgement, in the hopes that the delay would give King Henry time to tire of Mistress Boleyn. That too was a risky strategy; if he felt that he was being toyed with, King Henry would become angry and impatient. Not only that, even if he did tire of Mistress Boleyn and decide against making her his wife, he might still want to pursue the annulment in order to free himself of Queen Katherine and marry another woman, especially if he truly had succeeded in convincing himself that their union was accursed.

As distasteful as it was, granting a dispensation that would allow King Henry to commit bigamy might be the only hope for a solution. While it would not please all concerned – in fact, Clement doubted that any of them would be especially happy about it – it was the closest he could come to satisfying everybody.

King Henry would be able to marry his Anne, who would, with God's help, produce the heir who would keep the country safe from civil war. They would both have cause to be grateful to Clement for allowing them to marry. Queen Katherine would not be pleased to have to share her husband with a second wife but she would surely be sensible enough to know that it was far better this way than that she should be repudiated, put through the humiliation of a trial to test the validity of her marriage, and that this solution would also mean that Princess Mary would retain her position as the King's legitimate daughter. The Emperor Charles might grumble at the treatment of his relatives but he would also know that things could easily be much worse.

It was the only way.

With a heavy heart, he picked up a quill and parchment from the plain, unvarnished table that served as his desk, dipping the quill in the inkwell before he began to write.

* * *

  


**  
_21st April 1528_  
**  


The pope was a coward.

That was Wolsey's first thought when he opened the letter he was sent from Orvieto, a letter explaining that the pope had decided, after long hours of prayer and deliberation, to grant King Henry's requested dispensations, allowing him to take a second wife if he so chose and for that wife to be a close relative of somebody with whom he had once had intimate relations.

Clement might see this as diplomacy; a way of balancing the interests of the King of England and those of the Holy Roman Emperor but Wolsey considered it cowardice.

If he had been elected pope, as he ought to have been, _he_ would never have consented to agree to such an unthinkable proposal. He would have considered Henry's request for an annulment carefully, weighing the pros and the cons and the competing interests in play and he would have made a decision, instead of procrastinating over it.

If he believed that it was best for Henry to be granted his annulment, he would grant it – and Wolsey was honest enough to admit to himself that he would not have been displeased to be able to displease Katherine of Aragon, whom he had never liked and who had never liked or respected him, by granting an annulment that would declare that she had been an unwitting harlot these many years, living with a man who had never been her husband in the eyes of God and naming her beloved daughter a bastard – and if it was not possible for the annulment to be granted, he would say so outright, instead of allowing the matter to drag on for so long that all concerned became angry, thinking that he was toying with them and that he had no intention of declaring a proper verdict.

But it didn't matter what Wolsey would have done as pope.

Clement was the pope and he had made his decision.

He had sanctioned bigamy.

Dr Knight would be back in England by now, with the papal bulls granting the dispensations in his possession. Once they were presented to Henry, he would soon summon Wolsey to him, asking his advice on what he ought to do, and he would hopefully do this before he had a chance to see Anne Boleyn and to find out how she felt about the situation.

Learning that Henry was in love with Anne Boleyn was a shock for Wolsey, and a very unpleasant one.

When he first heard rumours that his King had embarked on a love affair with Mary Boleyn, he was mildly concerned. He knew that her father, for all his pretence of courtesy and respect, disliked him and that he, together with his brother-in-law, the Duke of Norfolk, would love nothing more than to be able to drive a wedge between him and Henry so he was aware that there was a possibility that the two men might use Mary to sow seeds of distrust towards him in Henry's mind and he was thankful when the affair palled, with Mary quickly forgotten about.

He was a fool not to anticipate that Boleyn and Norfolk might try to repeat the situation with the younger sister, in the hopes that she might be able to hold Henry longer and that they could use her to hurt him. He could kick himself at the memory of how little attention he had paid to the girl when he saw her outside Henry's study, awaiting an audience. The only reason he had noticed her at all was that she was the only woman present. As a rule, the Queen's ladies-in-waiting brought any problems or requests to their mistress and if they did need the King's input into a matter, it was brought to his notice through one of their male relatives.

_"What would a silly girl like you have to say to a King?"_

He hadn't even stayed long enough to hear her answer or looked back to see how she reacted to his words. Had she been angry at being dismissed thus or merely amused that she had been able to escape the notice of Cardinal Wolsey, at the idea that the King's love for her had not yet been marked by him or by his network of spies?

At the time, he hadn't cared how she might react – why would he? – but now he couldn't help but be concerned, worried that a few careless words might have earned him the enmity of somebody who was now wielding a great deal of influence.

That 'silly girl' was now in a position where she could do him a great deal of harm if she wished, or if her relatives pushed her to do so, as they were certain to.

She was back at her family's home, Hever Castle, at the moment but if Henry went there to see her, if he spoke to her first, if she insisted that she couldn't be his second wife and urged him to continue to push for the annulment, if she was able to convince him not to accept a compromise, then Wolsey would be the one Henry would expect to obtain the annulment for him.

The pope would never grant an annulment.

The fact that he was willing to take the drastic step of sanctioning a bigamous union was proof that this was as far as he would be prepared to go. He wasn't going to offend the Emperor by annulling his aunt's marriage and even if he was forced to try, Wolsey wouldn't succeed.

If Henry didn't accept this deal, no further concessions would be made.

Much as he hated the idea of helping to elevate Anne Boleyn, knowing that a secure position of power would make her even more of a threat to him than she was at present, he had no alternative.

She was going to be the King's wife.


	2. Chapter One

**_22nd April 1528_ **

"I didn't expect him to agree." Henry remarked quietly, staring at the papal bull in his hand, amazed by what he was holding. He was telling the truth when he said that he hadn't expected his request to be granted, and certainly never this quickly. While he wanted the dispensation allowing him to marry Anne, despite his prior relations with her sister, Mary, he didn't expect that the pope would ever agree to the proposal that he be allowed to take a second wife if he could not be freed of Katherine. It was intended as proof of his determination, so that Pope Clement would know that King Henry was not a man to be fobbed off with half-hearted reassurances that his marriage was good and valid, or with a promise to issue a fresh dispensation to make good any defects.

On one hand, he was pleased; it would mean that he could make Anne his wife sooner than he had anticipated but he was also conscious of a feeling of disappointment that the pope, who was supposed to look only to God when he made his judgements, lacked the courage to annul a marriage that every honest Churchman and theologian must surely acknowledge to be invalid and accursed, simply because one of the parties involved was a relative of so powerful a man as the Holy Roman Emperor.

He was not happy about the idea that the Emperor Charles was seen as more important to cultivate and to please than King Henry.

Damn Katherine for dragging her wretched nephew into a matter which did not concern him!

Even if she was his aunt, she had seen him only once in his life, when Charles paid a brief visit to England almost two years ago to sign a treaty of friendship and to be betrothed to Mary… and even then, he jilted their daughter barely a year later, marrying Princess Isabella of Portugal in her stead, more interested in the huge dowry Princess Isabella would bring him than in keeping his word. Of Mary's dowry, paid in advance in the form of gold to assist Charles with his campaigns, nothing was said – perhaps Charles would prove to take after his grandfather, Ferdinand, who refused to pay what he owed of Katherine's dowry after Arthur's death, and not repay a farthing of Mary's dowry.

So much for loyalty to one's kin.

And this was the man in whom Katherine chose to place her trust, instead of being guided by Henry's judgement in this matter, as she ought to be!

"I must confess to being taken aback by the pope's decision," Wolsey agreed smoothly, making no comment about the fact that Henry had decided to send the bulls to Clement without consulting him about it first, a move that would have been virtually unthinkable a few years ago, when the young monarch was guided by his Chancellor in all things. "But it does make his intentions with regard to Your Majesty's Great Matter plain."

"He won't give me my annulment." Henry's tone was sullen.

"I do not believe so, Your Majesty." Wolsey said quietly. "The fact that he is willing to make this concession suggests that this is as far as he is prepared to go to satisfy Your Majesty in this matter. We _could_ continue proceedings for an annulment," he allowed, his tone making it plain what he thought about this option, "but it is my opinion that we would be unsuccessful. If the pope does not find against you, it is probable that he will delay as long as he possibly can, in the hopes that Your Majesty will abandon your course," Or that the Queen dies of old age, he added inwardly, although he did not think that was likely to happen soon; while Katherine was never a strong woman physically, she had been in better health than ever since her childbearing days ended.

Henry's usually handsome face was twisted in an ugly scowl. "I wonder whether Clement even bothered to read my arguments," he commented bitterly, angry at the thought of how he had laboured over them and how confident he was that the pope would see the justice of his case as soon as he read them and free him from his accursed union before the spring was over, in time for a summer wedding. "Or did he make his mind up as soon as the Emperor's troops sacked Rome?"

It was so unjust!

He was as true and devoted a son of the Church as any man could be and yet he was to be left tied to a woman who was not and could never be his wife, while Charles, who had committed sacrilege by assaulting Rome and taking the Holy Father captive, was to be placated at every turn, even at the expense of the man who championed the papacy when it came under threat.

It was almost enough to make a man turn Lutheran!

"Your Majesty, if I may," Wolsey began tentatively, "I would advise you to accept the pope's offer. I know that your marriage to Queen Katherine is doubtful and, by rights, it should be declared invalid but that is something that will not happen as long as her nephew is the Holy Roman Emperor, and he is still a young man, with many years ahead of him. And, if you will forgive me for bringing up so painful a matter, you are still without a male heir." He pointed out, aiming for one of Henry's most vulnerable spots and seeing from his slight flinch that the comment had had its desired effect, he smiled inwardly.

Mistress Anne might be displeased at the idea that she would not be Queen, that she would have to share the role of wife with the woman she had hoped to supplant but Wolsey was confident that she would not be able to coax Henry into continuing to press for the annulment so that she did not have to take second place. Even if she did, he was sure that there would be many other ladies in England – and much as he would have liked to arrange a marriage with a French princess, he was realistic enough to know that not royal family in Europe would ever consent to one of their women becoming a secondary consort – who would be only too happy to take advantage of the opportunity to step into her shoes.

"Mistress Anne is young and healthy; if you accept the pope's offer now then, with God's help, you could be the father of a son in a year's time, which would keep England safe from the threat of civil war." He pointed out persuasively.

"What about Anne?" Henry demanded angrily, already dreading the thought of facing her with this, of seeing her pain. When he promised her marriage, he envisioned her as the other half of him, as the unchallenged Queen of England. How could he now offer her half-measures? How could he put her in a position where she would have to endure the humiliation of being the second of two wives, little more that a concubine in some eyes, despite the fact that their union would be a true, lawful one in the eyes of God? It would be cruel to ask that of her!

"If she loves Your Majesty, if she wants to be your wife then she will surely be happy to know that she need wait no longer, and I am certain that she will take comfort in the knowledge that her issue will be legitimate and royal." Although there was no sign of it in his outward expression, Wolsey winced inwardly at the thought of how arrogant Thomas Boleyn, whose head was already far too swollen for his liking, would be when his daughter made him the grandfather of a future King. "We can see to it that she is treated with all due deference, as befits a royal consort," he added grudgingly. While he might think that Anne and her ambitious family would be justly served if she were to be treated as a mistress in everything but name, he was wise enough to know that Henry was infatuated with the girl and that he would take umbrage at any suggestion that she should be treated thus. It would be best to placate him, even if that meant advancing Anne.

Henry nodded, his anger cooling slightly as he turned his thoughts to Anne's future status, and how best they could ensure that she was not allowed to be shamed in any way. "I won't have her taking second place to Katherine," he warned.

He would have been more than happy to wrest the Queen's crown from Katherine's head, crowning Anne in her stead but even in his anger Henry was wise enough to see that this would not be a practical possibility. The English people had taken Katherine to their hearts when she first arrived on their shores to be married to Arthur and they had loved her since then. They would be angry to see the woman they thought of as their Queen deprived of their title and it was very likely to stir up public feelings against Anne if she was to be elevated to Katherine's former place and her situation would be difficult enough without adding to her burden. By rights, Anne should be first among the women in England, as she was first in his heart but if she could not be placed above Katherine, he would see to it that she was left on equal footing at least.

"Of course," Wolsey inclined his head, nodding as though he had never even _considered_ that it should be otherwise, while his keen mind mulled over the practicalities of the issue.

There was no precedent for this and therefore no guidelines as to how the should proceed, so the questions of Anne's future title, honours and precedence were difficult ones, questions that Wolsey, clever and able as he was, knew that he could not answer by himself – if nothing else, enlisting the aid of others meant that if the King was not satisfied with the result, the blame could be shared.

If the determined expression on Henry's face was any indication, he had every intention of involving himself with the decision-making and Wolsey knew just which men should be chosen to help them sort this matter out.

* * *

It was not easy to place a spy in Cardinal Wolsey's household.

Wolsey's people were well-paid and while he was disliked and resented at court, the man was able to inspire a great deal of loyalty in his servants, so there were few among them who could be tempted to betray their master even with the promise of money as an inducement and, even if they were, Wolsey was not devoid of cunning and had employed enough spies for his own purposes to have a knack for guessing when one of his people might be serving another.

The man Thomas Boleyn relied upon for most of his information about the butcher's son turned cardinal had not sold his services cheaply; Boleyn suspected that he paid the fellow as much money, if not more, in a month than Wolsey did in the year but having one of Wolsey's secretaries in his pocket was well-worth paying for, especially today, when the news he communicated was of such vital importance that Boleyn would have paid a hundred pounds for it if that was the price demanded of him.

This development was one that he could not have foreseen and he was deeply thankful that he had judged it prudent to return to Hever for a short visit earlier this week, taking Anne with him to ensure that it would not be long before the King followed. This was a discussion that could be dangerous to have at court, surrounded by so many curious, unfriendly eyes and ears.

He and his brother-in-law remained closeted together in his study for a couple of hours, with George in attendance, before he sent a servant to summon Anne in from the gardens.

"You wanted to see me, Papa?" Anne asked, before turning to her uncle and acknowledging him with a quick, graceful curtsey. "Uncle."

Her father was sitting behind his great, carved desk, with her uncle standing behind him and George sitting by the window, a sympathetic expression on his face as he looked at her. Her father and uncle's expressions were unreadable.

She was not invited to sit and something in her father and uncle's eyes kept her from braving their annoyance and taking a chair without being asked to do so. Standing there, she felt just as she had as a child, when her nurse or her governess deemed one of her misdeeds to be serious enough to merit reporting the matter to her father instead of dealing with it themselves, sending her to his study to confess and to be scolded and punished.

What was happening?

Had something gone wrong with the annulment?

Had somebody spread gossip about her that blackened her name enough to make the King abandon all thoughts of marrying her?

Her father did not say a word as he pushed a sheet of parchment across the desk towards her, a letter written in clear script but not by a hand she recognized.

Before she was halfway through, her hand was trembling so violently that the letter rustled.

George sprang to his feet, catching her arm in a firm grip, guiding her over to one of the chairs in front of the desk and gently pushing her into it. "Sit down before you faint or something." He advised kindly, taking the letter from her hand and setting it on the desk.

"Would you like me to send for some wine?" Her father asked neutrally, with scarcely a hint of concern in his eyes, as though he had expected this reaction and was merely waiting for her shock to subside before continuing.

"No, thank you." Anne shook her head, sitting up straight and looking him in the eye. Despite her momentary weakness, she had no intention of letting them think that she was a pathetic, fainting ninny who could not bear the slightest shock or setback. Her heart sank, however, when she looked at him and at her uncle, instinctively knowing that they had not summoned her to ask her what she wished to do about this latest development or what she thought would be the best course of action.

They had already debated over the matter amongst themselves and decided how to proceed. They had not sent for her to get her input, only so that they could issue their instructions and the grim expressions on their faces told her what they had decided before they could put it in words.

No…

"We think that it would be for the best to accept this arrangement, if that is His Majesty's desire." Her uncle told her bluntly. "Now that permission has been given for him to take a second wife, he will wish to do so in order to father an heir and to secure the succession. If you will not accept, then it is likely that he will find somebody who will – and I am certain that you would rather see your son on the throne than the son of another woman."

He was already looking to the next generation, Anne thought in disbelief. Did it even matter to him that this arrangement would leave her a virtual concubine, a mistress in everything but name as long as the children she bore were legitimate, putting a child of Boleyn and Howard blood on the throne? Did he care that she was going to have to share her future husband, the man she loved, with a woman who despised her and live in a court where she was mocked as an upstart who reached for the Queen's throne and managed to achieve only the status of a concubine?

"No." Her voice was soft but determined.

"What did you say?" Her father demanded sharply.

"I can't do this, Papa." She insisted, ignoring George's warning shake of the head and her uncle's angry scowl and directing her appeal to her father, hoping that she would be able to secure his support. If she spoke to Henry, surely she would be able to make him understand that he had to keep fighting for his annulment, no matter how tempted he might be by the offer. "I can't!"

"You can, and you will unless you want a thrashing that you will remember until the day you die!" Her uncle snapped, furious.

Her father did not second this threat but he did not refute it either. "You're an intelligent girl, Anne," he said calmly, "I'm sure that you are capable of understanding that the pope has drawn his line in the sand. He has decided that he will go this far and no further. There will be no annulment, even if you try to convince the King to keep fighting. The pope is in the Emperor's power and he is more concerned with appeasing him than he is with justice. This way, you can still be His Majesty's wife."

"And let us not forget that this is what you want, at least as far as His Majesty is concerned." Her uncle interjected, still scowling darkly at her, looking as though he might be ready to carry out his threat, regardless of whether or not her father approved or consented. "As far as he is concerned, this is not a question of ambition for you. He believes that you love him and that you aspire to wear his wedding ring, not the Queen's crown."

Anne didn't answer. Even if she protested that she returned Henry's love, insisting that this stopped being a masquerade for her a long time ago, her uncle wouldn't believe her. He would think that she was being fooled by her masquerade and remind her of the task she was charged with; bringing down Wolsey. It would have been a lie for her to say that the idea of becoming Queen, of being the first lady in England, did not appeal to her but she was ready to be with him even before he asked.

"He would not be happy to learn that he was mistaken and that you cared more for his crown than for him," her uncle continued relentlessly. "And he would not forgive this family if he came to believe that you were making a fool of him all this time. There would be plenty of people who would be only too happy to whisper poison in his ears about you – Wolsey, for one – if you are stupid enough to reject this offer."

"Which we know you won't be, am I right?" Her father asked rhetorically, frowning when she did not respond. He regarded her impatiently for a few minutes, waiting for her to speak and wondering if she really would refuse, despite her uncle's threat. They could not afford for her to do that. "I'll give you some time alone to think about it," he said at last. "Go up to your room and, when you're ready to be reasonable, you may come down to let us know."

Anne felt the heat rise in her cheeks at this curt dismissal; her father's words and tone were better suited to be addressed to a naughty, obstinate little girl than to an adult with a genuine grievance. However, she knew her father well enough to know that arguing with him would be pointless, especially with her uncle in the room so, without saying a word, she rose and left the study, heading for the stairs and the privacy of her bedchamber.

George stood, as if to follow her, but his father raised a hand to halt him.

"No, leave her be." He commanded sharply before looking at Norfolk, an apologetic expression on his face over his daughter's obstinacy. "Some time alone will bring Anne to her senses, I am sure of it." He offered. "She'll know that this is the only course of action, and accept it."

Norfolk's expression was grim. "She had better. For all our sakes."

* * *

Sir Thomas More prided himself on his loyalty to his King, and on the fact that Henry knew that he could always trust that he would serve him to the best of his ability, even if he had misgivings about a particular course of action on which his monarch was set. At times, the tasks he was charged with had been uncomfortable but that discomfort paled next to his feelings about what he had been called upon to do today.

The idea of bigamy revolted him. Even if that bigamy was sanctioned by the pope and therefore not a sin, it didn't change the fact that it was certain to create a degrading situation for a good woman, one who loved her husband deeply and who had been a true, loyal and devoted wife to him for many years. He hated the idea of a blameless wife being cast aside by her husband, for no other reason but that she was old and he could no longer hope for sons from her but forcing her to endure the humiliation of watching her husband take a second, younger wife was not much of an improvement.

To make matters worse for More, after hours spent closeted with Henry, Wolsey and Master Cromwell as they debated the question of Anne's future standing – before she had even accepted the offer to be Henry's second wife, More silently noted, wondering whether Henry would decide to continue with his quest for an annulment if Anne refused to accept the place of his second wife – he was the one Henry singled out for the task of informing Katherine what had been decided.

Did he hope that it would be easier for Katherine to accept if the news came from a man she liked and respected, rather than from Wolsey, with whom she had never had an especially cordial relationship, or from Cromwell, a virtual stranger to her?

Henry himself was bound for Hever Castle, clearly deeming it more important that he speak to Anne than to his wife and the mother of his child, even though the issue was certainly one that affected both women equally.

Katherine gave him a smile of welcome when he entered her chamber, rising and extending her hand for him to kiss but when she saw the sombre expression on his face, she immediately knew that he was the bearer of bad news and, for a moment, her self-control slipped, her face turning pale as a tiny gasp of dismay escaped her lips.

"The annulment…" She said faintly, fearing the worst.

Had Henry, through Wolsey, who had never been a friend to Katherine or to her nephew, been able to secure the annulment he sought, dissolving their marriage as though it had never been? She could hardly bear to think of what that would mean for herself, relegated to the role of Princess Dowager of Wales and either banished from the court which had been her home for so long or else allowed to stay but forced to watch her rival usurp her rightful place and for Mary, it would be worse still. Even if her marriage was annulled, they could not take away Katherine's title and rights as a Princess of Spain but for Mary, an annulment would mean that she would be branded a bastard, stripped of her royal titles and excluded from the line of succession to the throne that was her birthright.

"No, dear lady." More insisted quickly, guessing what she must be thinking and hastening to reassure her that there was one thing that she did not fear. "His Holiness has not granted the annulment but…" It was rare for him to be at a loss for words but right now, it was difficult to find the right thing to say.

"But?" Katherine prompted him kindly. While it was good news that she did not need to fear her marriage being annulled, it was plain from the expression on More's face that there was other, less pleasant, news to come and that it was as difficult for him to tell her the news as it would be for her to hear it. She gave him a small, encouraging smile, silently reassuring him that, regardless of what it was he had come to say, she would never blame him for saying it.

Much as he would have liked to spare her the news, there was no alternative but to tell her. Waiting certainly would not make the news more palatable.

"In exchange for the King's agreement to abandon his suit of nullity, His Holiness has agreed to his proposed… compromise." More's lips tightened at the word. He knew better than to think that Henry would be prepared to give up Anne and he devoutly believed in the pope's role as God's representative on Earth and in the fact that his dictates were divinely inspired but, despite that, he couldn't help but wonder how it could be God's will for this to happen. "You will remain his wife… but so will Lady Anne." As soon as the words were spoken, he could have bitten his tongue, ashamed of the clumsiness of his words.

He knew, of course, that there was no way he could have put it that would make it any easier for Katherine to hear the news or to accept it but he still chastised himself for his poor choice of words.

Where was his usual silver tongue?

"What do you mean?" Katherine asked, feeling a heavy knot forming in the pit of her stomach.

"The King sent a bull to the pope asking that, if no way could be found for His Holiness to annul your marriage, he should instead be given permission to take a second wife. His Holiness has replied, agreeing to this." He said quietly, remembering Wolsey's dismay when he learned of the errand on which Dr Knight was dispatched, asking More to tell him that he had done the right thing by allowing the man to proceed with his mission but taking scant comfort when he pointed out that there was nothing else he could have done.

Katherine felt numb, her legs shaky as she sank back into her chair, shivering slightly despite the warmth of the fire. She had discussed the matter with Ambassador Mendoza, who warned her that certain concessions might be made to Henry, such as that any children he and Anne had would be made legitimate, even if they were not married, but she had not anticipated this. She could never have imagined that her husband would dare to suggest such a thing to the pope, much less that the pope might agree to such an obscene proposal.

Several long minutes of silence stretched between them before she finally spoke, in a low, choking voice. "So this country will soon have two Queens?"

"No, Your Majesty." More contradicted her at once. "The King _did_ suggest that but, while he might have permission to take Anne as his second wife, England cannot have a second Queen, not as long as that title is yours."

"I see." Katherine nodded comprehension. "What will we be calling that woman?" She could not bring herself to speak her rival's name.

"After the marriage – assuming that she consents to this arrangement," he added, frowning at the thought that, while Katherine was given no choice in the matter, if Anne refused, Henry was likely to listen to her and to placate her however he could, "the Lady Anne will be known as the Princess Consort. She is to be addressed as 'Your Majesty'." During the meeting, after Cromwell proposed the title of Princess Consort, More advocated that Anne be referred to and addressed as 'Highness' rather than 'Majesty', privately thinking that it would reinforce her status as a secondary consort and place her on a level with Henry's daughter and sister, the Princesses Mary and Margaret, instead of with Henry and Katherine but Henry had seen through the suggestion and refused it outright. In no respect, save that she could not hold the title of Queen while Katherine lived, would he allow Anne to be placed in an inferior position to Katherine's. "You and she will be equal in terms of precedence at court."

Katherine nodded again. Given Henry's infatuation with the girl, it was not surprising that he would insist on elevating her as much as he possibly could, not caring how it would be received at court or by the people. "And her children?" When Mendoza warned her of the possibility that any bastards Anne bore Henry might be made legitimate, she was aware that those children would be entitled to a place in the line of succession but she was also determined that as a Princess born in wedlock, Mary would be first in line to the throne ahead of her half-siblings, even if those half-siblings were boys. However, if Henry and Anne were to be married, that changed things.

"Anne's children will be Princes and Princesses of England, with the full rights and status of children born in wedlock." He explained. "Under the terms of the papal dispensation, Anne will be the King's wife in the eyes of the Church and any children she bears will be treated just as they would have been if they were born to you. Princess Mary will be placed ahead of any daughters…"

"But behind any sons." Katherine finished for him, knowing in her heart that Mary's chances of becoming Queen would be low now, even lower than they were when Henry sought to advance his bastard son, the little Duke of Richmond. "So my daughter will never be Queen." She remarked, frowning at the thought that the granddaughter of Ferdinand and Isabella would be set aside in favour of Anne's son, with the descendant of a London merchant taking the throne that should be Mary's.

"Lady Anne may not…"

It was tempting to cling to the hope that Anne might prove to be barren, after all this trouble, but Katherine did not think that this would be the case.

"She's young, Sir Thomas." She pointed out quietly. "Only twenty, I believe." Half Katherine's age and ten years younger than she had been when Mary was born, ten years younger than Henry was now. She had many childbearing years ahead of her, years to fill the royal nursery with sons, and each healthy boy she bore would put Mary further and further away from the throne.

More could only nod, thinking that while Henry might be infatuated with his young bride-to-be, the wife he _wanted_ , Katherine was the wife he _needed_. He could remember when Henry first became King as a boy of seventeen, well educated and instructed in the art of ruling by his father, as befitted the heir to the throne, but younger than his years in many ways, not yet ready for the burden of kingship. But for Katherine's steadying influence, he might have become the most careless and self-indulgent monarch who had ever lived, devoting himself entirely to his own pleasure without ever sparing a thought for the people and his duty to protect and govern them. Anne might have a great deal of influence over Henry but she was too young to be able to guide him and steady him as Katherine had, at least in More's opinion.

It was a few minutes before Katherine spoke again and, when she did, her tone was rueful. "I suppose I ought to be thankful that my husband is taking only one additional wife," she remarked. "The infidels my mother fought, some of them believed that a man might have up to _four_ wives. When I was a little girl, I used to wonder how a woman could bear to share her husband with other wives. Now I will find out for myself."

More privately considered that if Henry lived in a society where a man was permitted to have four wives, he would want to have six at the very least but he would never have said so. His loyalty to Henry and his admiration for Katherine, who would be hurt to hear such things of her beloved husband, bridled his tongue. Instead, he regarded Katherine with dark eyes full of compassion. "Will you be alright?" He asked tentatively, praying that she would not allow this indignity to weigh upon her to the point where it caused her to become angry, bitter and hate-filled.

It would be a tragedy if such a thing should happen to so gracious a lady.

Her eyes were full of pain when she turned to look at him. "Does it matter how I feel about this?" She asked rhetorically. "If my husband wishes to do this, if he has the blessing of the pope to do this, then I cannot stop him."

* * *

George moved as silently as he could as he hastened down the gallery towards the shallow flight of stairs leading to Anne's bedchamber, not pausing to knock before he pushed the door open and entered, for fear that he might be seen and stopped.

His father had insisted that Anne should be left by herself until she was ready to accept the inevitable but George felt sorry for his sister and, after a couple of hours, as soon as he got a chance to slip away, he made his way up to her room, holding a finger to his lips as he entered.

"Shh!" He cautioned in a hushed tone, before Anne could make a noise. "I'm not supposed to be here." She was lying on the bed, with the shutters on her window closed and the room illuminated only be the dim light of candles, just as she had been a few weeks ago, during one of her brief visits to Hever, the night before she was due to return to court, where the King was eagerly awaiting her company.

_"Why are you sitting in the darkness? Hmm?" She didn't answer, or give any sign that she registered his presence. Concerned, he sat down next to her, touching her arm lightly. "What's wrong?"_

_"You don't understand."_

_"Of course I do – I'm your brother, aren't I?"_

_"If only you were still as you used to be," Anne lamented quietly. "I remember I told you everything, all my secrets."_

_"You can still tell me."_

_"I can't." She contradicted him flatly._

_"Why?"_

_"You'd share them."_

_She held his gaze for a moment and George knew that she knew that he had spoken of their earlier tussle over the King's love letter and her passionate demands for it to be returned to her, of how he had asked her to deny that she was in love with the King but she was unable to do so. Worried about his sister being hurt by the game she was being asked to play and not knowing what to do, he confided his fears to his father, who thanked him for bringing the matter to his attention, grimly promising to deal with it._

_Anne knew that he had betrayed her and she would never feel able to be open with him again._

This time, Anne didn't look at him as he sat down by the bed but even in the dim light, George could see the telltale traces of tears on her cheeks and he immediately fished in his pocket for a handkerchief, pressing it into her hand, cupping her cheek in one hand and gently tilting her face so that she was looking at him.

"Come on," he began encouragingly. "It's not worth getting so upset over, is it? I'm sure that it won't be as bad as you think; you'll be his wife..."

"His _second_ wife." Anne pointed out bitterly. "His mistress in everything but name. That's what they'll say about me, isn't it?"

"That's not true, the King would never let anybody treat you like that and you know it."

"I won't be Queen." Whatever it was people wound up calling her, she knew that it would not be 'Queen'.

"Only as long as Katherine's alive," George reminded her. "And she's getting on in years. You'll be Queen before you know it." He predicted cheerfully. Anne didn't respond so he soldiered on. "And until then, you know that you'll be first in the King's heart; he loves you and he wants to get rid of her so who do you think he's going to favour? He'll give you anything you ask for, anything you could possibly want. And when you give him a son, he'll be more in love with you than ever and you will be the mother of England's next King. Katherine might get to keep the title of Queen but she'd let you take that in a heartbeat if it meant that she could be the one to bear England's prince – and that's something that she'll never be able to do for him now."

What her brother was saying was true but he could never understand her feelings about this matter. What man would ever be in a position where he had to endure the humiliation of being one of two husbands, or the pain of sharing the wife he loved with his fellow husband?

But was it better to settle for to half or to refuse to settle, taking the chance of gaining everything and the risk of losing what she had.

All or nothing?

It was a gambler's question but, in this case, Anne knew that it wasn't for her to decide whether to ask for another card or to take a chance on the next roll of the dice. Her father and uncle were right on that count. If Henry decided that he wanted to accept this deal rather than persisting in the fight for an annulment, a fight that he would know that he had only a slim chance of winning, that was it.

Before he proposed marriage, before he pledged to honour her maidenhead until they were married, she was ready to accept the offer to be his _maitresse en titre_ , even though that would mean that Katherine would still be his wife and Queen and that she would still have to share Henry with her.

At least it would be better, if she had to share the man she loved, that she was his wife rather than his mistress.

They both stiffened when they heard approaching footsteps and a few moments later, their father entered the room, giving George a withering look and motioning for him to leave the room before turning his attention to Anne, his keen gaze taking in her tearstained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. He took the crumpled handkerchief from her hand, crossing over to the washstand and lifted the jug to fill the large bowl. After soaking the handkerchief in cold water, he wrung it out before returning to his daughter's side.

"Sit up." He instructed, not unkindly, cupping her chin in one hand and using the wet handkerchief to wash away the tearstains. "The King has arrived and he wants to see you. I take it that you know what you'll be saying to him." Anne nodded mutely, a resigned expression on her face. "Good girl." He set down the handkerchief, examining her face and frowning slightly.

Even after his ministrations, it would be obvious at a glance that she had been crying. One look at her and the King would know that she knew what was happening and how she felt about it. He briefly considered asking the King to give Anne half-an-hour to make herself ready to receive him, allowing her time to make herself presentable but, remembering the unhappy, guilty expression on his face when he arrived with his small retinue, he made his decision.

Catching one of Anne's hands in his, he tugged her to her feet, inspecting her gown to make sure that it wasn't crumpled after lying on the bed and then he motioned for her to precede him.

"We must not keep His Majesty waiting." He said firmly, before she could protest that she needed time to change.

Henry was sitting on a chair in front of the huge stone fireplace but he sprang to his feet as soon as Anne entered, her father following close behind her.

"Sweetheart!" He hurried over to her, taking both her hands in his. Seeing the pain in her eyes, he felt a surge of fury towards the pope for his cowardice, towards the Emperor for his interference, towards Katherine for inviting that interference and towards everybody else whose actions contributed to the look in Anne's eyes. He pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head and holding her close. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

Watching in silence as the King led Anne back towards the fireplace, sitting down and gently tugging her into his lap, Boleyn and Norfolk exchanged smiles of satisfaction, watching their sovereign comforting his future wife, vowing to her that he would make sure that everything was alright.

"This won't change anything, my darling, I promise you that." Henry insisted, stroking Anne's long, dark hair. "If I thought that we had a chance of getting an annulment, I'd keep fighting, I swear it, but even if the pope is too much of a coward to do what he should and dissolve my marriage, it doesn't change the fact that _I_ know that it's invalid, that _we_ know the truth. Even if they force me to keep Katherine as my wife in name, I know that she's only my sister-in-law and that's how I'll treat her. You're going to be my wife – my only _true_ wife." Seeing fresh tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks he brushed them away with a gentle finger, devastated to see her so upset. "I'll make it up to you, I swear!"


	3. Chapter Two

**_3rd May 1528_ **

At ten, Princess Mary was a little bit shorter than was average for a girl of her age, with a slight build, dark hair and eyes and a heart-shaped face that was serious in repose and could look positively grim when she was angry, a trait she shared with her father. She was a keenly intelligent child and one who was carefully schooled in the proper behaviour expected of a princess from her infancy, taught to always present a dignified front and not to allow anybody to read what was in her heart or to see her lose her temper, regardless of the provocation.

Accompanied by Lady Salisbury, her governess, and a small retinue of servants and ladies, she made her way through the corridors of Whitehall Palace with her head held high, looking like a little woman, like a miniature of her mother in her long, cumbersome gown, as heavy and formal as the gowns worn by any of the ladies of the court, rather than like a child. She did not speak to anybody as she walked, though she acknowledged their bows and curtsies of greeting with gracious nods.

As soon as she crossed the threshold of her mother's apartments, however, the disconcertingly adult air melted away and she was a little girl again as she dashed into her mother's waiting arms.

"Mama!"

"Mary!" Katherine knelt down as her daughter ran towards her, taking her in her arms and hugging her tightly. "Oh sweetheart! I'm so glad to see you. I've missed you so much!"

"I've missed you too, Mama." Mary assured her, planting several smacking kisses on her mother's cheek and ignoring her governess' disapproving tut, the pointed clearing of her throat to remind her that she ought to curtsey and greet her formally, as her Queen as well as as her mother.

She had been kept away from her mother for far too long and she had no intention of wasting a minute of their reunion with pointless ceremony.

"When did you get here?" Katherine quizzed her daughter, determinedly suppressing the feeling of irritation towards Henry that he had not thought to let her know that a visit from their daughter, an event he knew she desired above all others, was imminent, that he had not had the courtesy to relay the news that he knew she would take great joy in. Even if he was too busy with Anne to come to tell her in person, it was surely not too much to ask to expect him to tear himself away from the girl for a few moments, at least long enough to send his wife a message through one of the countless courtiers and servants. "Are you to stay for long, sweetheart?" Although she addressed the question to Mary, Katherine glanced up at Lady Salisbury to include her as well, knowing that the governess was likely to be better informed than her young charge.

"We came to visit you as soon as we arrived, Your Majesty." Lady Salisbury assured her with a deep curtsey, her words confirmed by the travelling clothes that she and Mary were still clad in. "His Majesty the King sent for us to return to court, for the foreseeable future." The slightest of frowns creased her brow at this; it had suited Lady Salisbury very well to be living at Ludlow Castle, acting as mistress of a household three hundred strong as Mary was still too young to run her household for herself and, if it had not been for Mary's clear delight in being allowed to return to court to live near her mother once more, she would have been very put out by the idea of exchanging Ludlow Castle for a suite of rooms at Whitehall.

"I see." Katherine said quietly, kissing the top of Mary's head and smiling, for her sake, not wanting to worry the child or to mar her homecoming. As thrilled as she was to have Mary back with her and to know that she would be making her home at court, for the time being at any rate, she was not unaware of the implications of Henry's decision to recall their daughter from her household in the Welsh Marches.

Ludlow Castle was the seat of the Prince of Wales, the castle where the heir to the throne was sent when he neared adolescence so that he might run his own household and govern the region, with the assistance of a Privy Council, who would rule in their name until they were old enough to assume the reigns of power in fact as well as in name.

It was there that Katherine had gone with Arthur, shortly after their wedding, so that the people of England could see the Prince and Princess of Wales taking the first steps on a path that would lead them to their glorious future as King and Queen of England, and there that they spent their brief months of marriage before Arthur died.

While Katherine was devastated to learn that Mary was to be taken away from her to be sent to live in her own household and furious with Cardinal Wolsey, who she was convinced had put the idea in Henry's head, she had taken a measure of relief from the fact that, of all the places in England that he could have chosen, Henry selected Ludlow as their daughter's future home, taking it as an optimistic sign, as a sign that her husband knew that, despite his efforts to advance his bastard son and to place him above his legitimate daughter, Mary was the true, rightful heir to the throne and that the little Duke of Richmond would never wear his crown.

The people would never accept a bastard as heir ahead of a legitimate princess, no matter how many titles and honours were heaped on the former and even if they would be prepared to accept the little boy, she had to believe that Henry loved their daughter too much and had too much of a sense of what was right and fitting to want to disinherit Mary.

If Henry had called her daughter back to court so that they might both have the pleasure of her company, she would have been delighted but she knew that this had not been his motive. Ludlow Castle was the home of the heir to the throne and Henry intended to make it plain that Mary was no longer the future Queen of England. He was confidently expecting sons from Anne and, given the admittedly unusual circumstances in which they had found themselves, he was more determined than ever not to allow there to be a question in anybody's mind over the rights of Anne's sons to inherit ahead of Katherine's daughter.

Putting an arm around Mary's shoulders, Katherine nodded for Lady Salisbury and for her own ladies to leave them, to allow them to enjoy a few rare minutes of privacy.

"You've grown so much, and into such a beautiful girl." She murmured, cupping Mary's chin in one hand and tenderly brushing a lock of her long, dark hair back into the embroidered coif she wore. "Lady Salisbury and Dr Fetherstone tell me that you are clever too, and that you are applying yourself diligently to your studies. I am so proud of you."

Mary smiled her thanks but the expression on her face quickly became serious. "I am not the Princess of Wales anymore." She said quietly. "Papa sent a message to Lady Salisbury so that everybody knew that they were not to call me that from now on and my servants had to change their livery. That is why we are not going to be living at Ludlow Castle any more."

Katherine frowned at this. She had accepted that it was inevitable that after Henry married Anne, their oldest son would become Prince of Wales and Mary would lose that title, together with her place as the next heir to the throne, but for her husband to take the step of stripping their daughter of her title _before_ Anne produced a half-brother for her...

She wondered if Henry was familiar with the adage about not counting one's chickens before they were hatched.

"It's because of that woman, isn't it?" Mary's pretty face was contorted by a scowl. "My father's harlot!"

"Mary!" Katherine was horrified by the vehemence of the young girl's tone and by the words coming from her lips. She was so young! She should not have known what a harlot was, much less that her father was infatuated with one. "I do not like to hear you say such things." She rebuked her.

"Why not?" Mary demanded. "It's the truth. She is a harlot!"

"Lady Anne is your father's wife-to-be." Katherine corrected her firmly. While she might not disagree with Mary's sentiments, she was wise enough to know that such things should not be spoken aloud, even in private, for one never knew when unfriendly ears were listening. Henry was so devoted to Anne that Katherine would not put it past him to banish anybody who dared to say a word against her, even if the speaker was his own daughter and the last thing she wanted was to see her daughter, the Princess of England, dismissed from the court and wrenched from her side because she dared to say a word against Anne. Much as she hated the idea of defending Anne, she would do it if it meant keeping Mary safe. "You should not speak of her like that."

"You are Papa's wife." Mary insisted. "He cannot have a second wife while you live, no matter what the pope has said!"

"His Holiness has given your father a dispensation to take the Lady Anne as his wife, even while I live." Katherine reminded her. "I have accepted that it is his right to do so, and so must you."

She had spoken with Thomas More and Bishop Fisher a few days ago, after the initial shock of learning what her husband had planned sank in and both men were in agreement that the pope's dispensation would render Henry's marriage with Anne to be a true, lawful union in the eyes of God and the law and their children legitimate. They also stressed that, of all people, she could not speak against the dispensation under any circumstances. Bishop Fisher even warned her that to do so might be exactly what her enemies, the people who were so determined to see her removed from her rightful position as Henry's wife and Queen so that Anne Boleyn could usurp those roles, would want to see her do.

If she argued that the pope had no right to give Henry permission to break God's law by committing bigamy, if she claimed that that dispensation was invalid then by the same token, it would be argued that the dispensation given to allow Henry to marry her, his brother's widow, was also invalid and that the union it allowed was equally invalid. If so, Bishop Fisher explained, it would be used as evidence against her and as proof that Henry was right when he claimed that they were never truly married and that he was therefore a bachelor, entitled to marry anybody he chose.

Worst of all, it would be tantamount to admitting that Mary was a bastard and that was something that she would never do, under any circumstances.

Even if that meant that she had to defend Anne's position.

* * *

At Anne's request, Henry granted permission for her to stay at Hever for a few weeks longer before she returned to court. Much as he longed for her company, much as he hated the fact that he would not be able to have her by his side at all times, he understood that it would be better to allow her to be away over the coming weeks, when word of the pope's extraordinary concession leaked out and the whole court was abuzz with it. It would be far kinder to allow her a short respite in the country before she returned and was exposed to the inevitable gossip and to give it a chance to die down.

By the time she returned, he intended that work on her new apartments would be well underway and while she was at Hever, he sent the best dressmakers and the finest fabrics that money could buy to her so that when she was ready to come back to court, she would be dressed like the royalty she would soon become.

When she returned to court several months ago, after accepting his proposal of marriage, Anne believed that it would be best for them to maintain secrecy and, as far as possible, to carry on as they had before. After all, permission for an annulment had not yet been granted and until then, there would be some – she had not named Wolsey but Henry immediately thought of his Lord Chancellor as he spoke – who would expect him to take a royal bride once he was free, not a commoner.

Henry would have preferred to be able to make it plain to everybody that Anne was the woman he loved and the woman he planned to make his wife, he had to acknowledge the sense of what she was saying and agreed to it, although he had his misgivings, especially since continuing as she had before would mean that Anne would need to resume her duties as one of Katherine's ladies-in-waiting and to continue to sleep in the chamber she shared with three other ladies but she insisted that it would be alright, especially since it would only be for a short time before the pope granted the annulment, after which Katherine would be sent away, given her own royal household as the Princess Dowager of Wales and then Anne would be Queen, as she was meant to be.

At that thought, at the knowledge that this would never be, not now, Henry scowled, his anger searching for a target and settling on Katherine. He had not expected her to treat Anne so unkindly, not even when she knew that he favoured her. He did not expect her to pretend an affection or a friendship that she did not feel, especially under the circumstances, but he would not tolerate bullying. He would never have known what the woman who persisted in calling herself his wife had dared to say to the woman he loved if it was not for Lord Rochford, in whom Anne had confided after Katherine demeaned and insulted her.

Thank Heaven she had, and that her father had had the sense to let Henry know so that he could put a stop to it! It was brave and sweet of Anne not to want to trouble him but the last thing he wanted was for her to be in any way unhappy.

Even the need for secrecy had to take a second place to her happiness. Anne would not be treated like that as long as he had the power to prevent it.

He gave orders at once that Anne would no longer have to serve in Katherine's household, arranging for her to have her own rooms and the next time he spoke to Katherine, he made it plain that he would not tolerate her speaking an unkind word towards anybody he loved.

The suite of rooms Anne had occupied since then was large and well furnished but Henry intended to make those rooms seem plain and simple compared to the quarters he had planned for her.

No expense or trouble would be spared, he decided, as he examined the plans for the quarters of the future Princess Consort. Naturally, the rooms Katherine occupied as Queen would continue to be hers, there was no getting around that, but Anne's future accommodations would be just as large, and even more opulently furnished. Best of all, they would adjoin his quarters, connected by a private gallery to allow them to spend more time together without him having to make the journey halfway across the palace to see her. Several of the apartments nearby were being knocked together to create a larger space and once that was done, he would have the narrow windows replaced by larger, wider ones, to create light, airy space.

Anne would never be able to feel at home in dark, stuffy rooms, full of heavy carved furniture and tapestries. She needed light, space, flowers, music and laughter and he was going to give them to her.

"If I may, Your Majesty," one of the men engaged to design the decor for the room spoke up, holding out several swatches of material for Henry's approval. "Rather than plain wood panelling throughout the room, may I suggest that the walls here and here," he gestured towards the wall with the door and to the wall with the windows. "Be panelled with silk instead, to lend light and space to the room."

"Good idea." Henry said approvingly, taking the swatches of material from the man's hand and examining them, fingering the cloth with appreciative fingers. "This one," he decided, settling on silk of so pale a green that it was almost white at first glance, "but we'll have to have roses embroidered on it – Tudor roses, in gold thread." He decided, a satisfied smile on his face.

"An excellent idea, Your Majesty." The man said, bowing deeply and accepting the fabric samples back. He stiffened as he rose from his bow, catching sight of another person in the doorway and bowing a second time. "Your Majesty."

The sight of Katherine was enough to make all of the workmen present feel uncomfortable. Although they were aware, like most of the people in England, of the current situation and while they were able to accept the situation – and there were more than a few men in the court and throughout the country who envied the King the permission he had received to take a second wife and who would have been more than happy to do the same if it meant that they could have a young, lovely bride in addition to their aging spouses – there was something very distasteful about making plans for the rooms for a second wife while the first wife was present.

Only Henry seemed immune to the air of discomfort in the room. He scowled at Katherine when she approached. "Is there something that I can do for you, madam?" He asked, his tone cold, despite the outward courtesy of his words. "See to it that arrangements are made for the embroidery," he ordered the man, not giving Katherine a chance to speak, "and let me know when the designs for furniture are ready – make sure that they're in the French style. Lady Anne loves that." He glanced across at Katherine, shooting her a spiteful look before he added the next part. "And we shall have to have a great bed made as well."

"You are going to great expense, husband." Katherine commented, stressing the last word and determinedly ignoring his comment about the bed and the insinuation that Henry would be spending a great deal of time in it and looking instead at the carefully drawn plans and at the inventory of costs. While she was Queen and therefore given the best of everything in deference to her position, she always did her best not to be extravagant, reserving a portion of the generous allowance she was given to run her household for poor relief and she found herself feeling more than a little shocked at the colossal sums that Henry was spending on his future Princess Consort.

"That's not your concern." Henry told her curtly, waving to dismiss the workmen, not wanting an audience if Katherine was planning on making a scene. "What my future wife and I do is _our_ affair."

"I am your wife."

"You know perfectly well that our marriage was never valid!" He snapped at her. "If it weren't for your nephew, madam, and the sacrilege he committed by sacking Rome, we both know that the pope would have found in _my_ favour."

This was a little too true for Katherine's comfort. In the past, arrangements were made to free heirless kings from their marriages, in order that they might take a new wife who would hopefully provide them with a family of strong sons. Some excuse or another was used, and annulments granted – and in most of those cases, on far less certain grounds than those Henry was citing. She could not help but be aware of the fact that if it weren't for the fact that she was the aunt of the monarch whose troops had sacked Rome, and in whose power the pope currently was, she might have found herself set aside, after all these years, with her marriage erased as though it had never been and her child branded illegitimate so that her half-brother could inherit without hindrance.

It was deeply unsettling to think that she owed her current position, and that of her daughter, to so shocking an act of violence but she had to believe that God had guided Charles' hand, that He had interceded to prevent Henry committing the sin of setting his true wife aside on false grounds so that he might possess a young woman who refused to become his mistress.

Katherine was the daughter of two monarchs and she was therefore well aware of how important it was for a monarch to have an heir. Had their marriage been childless, perhaps she could have accepted this second marriage, grateful that she wasn't to be set aside entirely and deprived of her titles as wife and Queen, reminded herself that Henry had to have an heir and kept silent, or even retired to a nunnery so that Henry would be completely free to remarry but she had Mary and for Mary, she had to speak.

Mary was all the heir that any King would ever need, Katherine knew it in her heart. Her own mother, Isabella of Castile, had proven that there was no reason why a woman could not rule a kingdom just as well as any man, as Katherine had proven when she held the Regency of England in Henry's absence. Mary was the granddaughter of Isabella and Ferdinand. Anne could spend the next decade bearing Henry a child a year, all of them boys, and she could never hope to produce a child to match Mary.

"Henry... husband, I beg of you, do not do this thing." Seeing him try to pull away, she caught him by the sleeve, willing him to listen to reason and to spare all concerned the humiliation of what was happening to them. "Even if the pope has given you permission, you do not need to do this thing, not even the hope of a son is worth making yourself such an object of ridicule! You have an heir, we have Mary..."

"And she is a bastard in everything but name!" He snapped in return.

"How can you say that?" She was horrified that that he would say such a thing of their adored daughter. "You love Mary! You know you do."

"It is because I love her that I am prepared to allow her to retain her title as Princess, even though she has no true right to it." Henry countered, ignoring the fact that his decision had also been motivated by the fact that a legitimate princess was of far more value in the royal marriage market than a bastard. "Just as I have resigned myself to the fact that you must be permitted to continue to call yourself my wife and Queen but _I_ know the truth. I am a free man in the eyes of God, free to marry whoever I choose and you are my sister-in-law, my brother's widow. When I marry Lady Anne, I will have a true wife for the first time in my life and by her I will have sons, legitimate princes who will ensure that your bastard daughter will never be allowed to sit on the English throne!"

"Even if Mary _was_ a bastard, she is at least a child of an impeccable royal lineage... on my side." Katherine pointed out coolly, seeing from Henry's slight flinch that her shaft about the less than perfect royal lineage of the Tudor line had hit home. Ordinarily, she would never have dreamed of saying such a thing, to Henry or to anybody else and she usually kept her temper under tight rein, making sure that she never raised her voice in public or descended to quarrel, but she would not stand by and allow her daughter to be insulted like this, especially by her own father, the man who should be defending her against such slanders and punishing those who dared to speak against his child. "Her mother is a Princess of Spain and her maternal grandparents were both monarchs in their own right. Even if you _can_ sire a son on Lady Anne, what kind of grandparents will he boast?" She gave a small, contemptuous laugh at the thought of Anne's father, a man willing to sell his daughter for the highest title and thereby buy himself a place in the ranks of the nobility, as father-in-law to the King of England and grandfather to a prince. "A grandfather who would not even have reached the rank of viscount if not for your infatuation with his daughter? Grasping merchant ancestors..."

"Be quiet!" Henry barked at her, furious. "One more word from you against the Lady Anne, spoken to me, to her or to anybody else, and I will have our daughter removed from court immediately and sent away to live in the country, where you cannot poison her mind against me or against her future stepmother – perhaps I should even place Mary's education and the supervision of her household in Anne's charge?" He suggested, knowing how much the idea of being forbidden to see her daughter and having to watch while another woman took charge of her, would upset her.

As he expected, this was enough to silence Katherine.

Knowing that she could not continue this argument, knowing that if she said anything else, she would only risk endangering her position and, worse still, Mary's even further, she said nothing further, staring at Henry in disbelief.

What had happened to the man she loved?

What had happened to the boy who had rescued her from the long years of loneliness and penury that had followed the death of her first husband by making her his wife and his Queen, despite the fact that more than one of his advisors recommended that he should send her back to Spain, accompanied by what little remained of her dowry after the years in which she had had to sell her plate and jewels to provided for herself and for her small household, as her father-in-law refused to pay her widow's jointure, and look elsewhere for a younger bride?

What had happened to the considerate, loving husband who was so kind to her during the earlier years of their marriage, never speaking a word of reproach to her when their sons were stillborn or died shortly after birth and when their only living child was a daughter?

He had changed so much and, while she would have wanted to be able to believe that the change in Henry could be laid squarely at Anne's door, she could not convince herself of that.

Henry was straying before he ever met Anne, when she was still a young girl in France who would no more have aspired to be Queen of England than she would have expected to be able to grow wings and fly. He had had mistresses for years and made no secret of that fact, bedding her own ladies-in-waiting, her closest companions, whenever the fancy took him.

Anne was not blameless, of course. Katherine credited both her rival and her rival's family with being shrewd enough to see that refusing Henry's advances would be like waving a red flag in front of a bull, making him determined to possess the one woman who refused him, regardless of the price of her surrender but she also did not think that Anne, or even her shrewd father and uncle, had truly expected that Henry would propose marriage, or that Anne was the reason Henry decided, after all this time, to call the validity of their marriage and the legitimacy of their child into question.

That had been on the horizon for the past several years, once it became apparent that she would bear no more children and Henry ceased to share her bed, and the birth of little Henry Fitzroy had made matters worse for her.

Henry saw the birth of a healthy son to his mistress as proof that he was not to blame for the lack of a prince in the royal nursery, resenting the fact that he could not leave his throne to his son and undoubtedly wishing that his son could be legitimate while his daughter was the bastard.

Katherine suspected that it was then that he resolved to dissolve their marriage, freeing himself to marry another woman and have sons by her.

Anne was merely very fortunate in her timing.

There was nothing else she could say, no way that she could convince him to abandon the course of action upon which he was set, to accept Mary as his heiress and to allow them to continue as they had before so she simply curtsied, excusing herself and leaving the room, leaving a seething Henry behind her.

Try as he might, he could not shut out what she had said about Anne's family and while he did not care about his beloved's station – he was certain that he would have loved her if she was a scullery maid, knowing that she was his heart's destiny and his true soul mate as soon as he laid eyes on her – it could not be denied that there would be others who thought as Katherine did, deeming Anne to be unworthy to be a royal bride.

He would have to do something about that.

* * *

**_28th May 1528_ **

"Make way! Make way for the Lady Anne! Make way!"

At the call of the garter king at arms, the chief herald of England, the courtiers cleared a path between the high double doors and the dais, on which Henry sat, surrounded by some of the highest-ranking peers in the realm, including the newly created Earl of Wiltshire and Ormonde, who watched with pride as his daughter approached.

Almost everybody at court was present for this event, an event without precedent, eager to watch as the latest and, so far, greatest honour was bestowed on the King's beloved. The expressions on their faces ranged from the pride and joy in the eyes of Anne's relatives and supporters, to the thoughtful, wary expression on Cardinal Wolsey's face, to the angry scowl on the face of Princess Mary, whose presence at the ceremony was commanded by her father, as they watched Anne make her entrance.

Naturally, Katherine had absented herself from the proceedings, despite the fact that her husband had, through Master Cromwell, sent her a courteously worded invitation but, had anybody glanced in the direction of the heavy velvet curtains leading into the antechamber next to the dais, they would have seen her standing there, watching secretly, as she had watched the elevation of little Henry Fitzroy, but with far more unhappiness.

Anne was beautiful.

Even her bitterest enemy could not deny that she was an attractive woman but today she had something more than mere prettiness, something that set her apart and made her seem like something more than merely human. Her expression was serious as she walked through the parting sea of courtiers towards the dais, preceded by two pages, one of whom carried a coronet on a cushion, and followed by two ladies carrying the ermine trimmed crimson velvet mantle. The deep red velvet gown she wore was exquisite, trimmed with gold embroidery and decorated with jewels, as grand as any Katherine possessed. Her hair was down, hanging in loose, silky dark curls to her waist, secured with a rope of pearls and diamonds.

Regal, Katherine decided, watching from behind the curtains. Anne looked truly regal, as though she was born a princess, born to sit on a throne.

She wove her spell over almost every man and woman present as she walked the short distance to the foot of the dais, kneeling gracefully in front of Henry's throne, her eyes downcast as Master Cromwell stepped forward, the patent of nobility in his hand.

Henry's eyes shone with love and with pride as he watched her kneeling there and it broke Katherine's heart to see it, to see how deeply devoted he was to her, to see that he adored her as though she was a goddess from one of the old pagan legends, love personified.

Had she not been involved in this situation, had it not been for the fact that it was her _husband_ who had that look in his eyes for another woman, had they been just an ordinary pair of lovers, she thought that she would have wished them well, hoping that they would enjoy many happy years together and that they would be just as in love with one another in their old age as they were now.

Despite the gravity and solemnity of the ritual, Henry's sober facade dropped for a moment and he gave Anne a slight, encouraging smile.

Nothing like this had been done before, not in England at any rate.

On the rare occasions when a woman held a peerage title, she received it through inheritance, in the absence of male heirs and, as a rule, it was her husband who held the title rather than herself. Anne would be the first woman in England to be made a peer by direct creation, the first woman who would hold the title in her own, exclusive right.

Several of his Privy Council were scandalized when he announced his intentions, protesting that such a thing had never been done before but none of them could come up with a reason why it would be forbidden to do such a thing, if the King wished it, and Henry was determined to see it done.

His first instinct was to make Anne a Marquess but somehow, despite the fact that it was a great honour for anybody, let alone a woman, it did not seem like enough, just as it had not seemed like enough when he made Thomas Boleyn an earl, indirectly raising Anne's status. His future father-in-law had a claim to the earldom of Ormonde by right, though that claim was disputed by his cousin, and Henry added the earldom of Wiltshire to this, more to see Anne's joy at the news than for any other reason. For Anne, however, he decided that only the best would do. She would not be Queen and it was not in his power to make her a princess in her own right but he could do the next best thing and see to it that she was first among the peers in England.

She deserved nothing less.

Choosing Anne's title was a difficult decision. The title of Richmond, a title Henry's own father once carried, was dear to him and closely connected to the House of Tudor but it was also a title associated with his lost son, little Henry Fitzroy, and he did not want the tragedy of the death of his young son to be linked to Anne's new title.

Finally, after thinking over the matter a long time, he made his choice.

Patent in hand, Cromwell read aloud, in a clear, carrying voice that could be heard by everybody present. "To all and singular and well nobles and gentles as others whom these presentes shall come. It is the King's pleasure, by this patent, to confer on the Lady Anne Boleyn, in her own right and on her offspring, the noble titles of Duchess of Pembroke and Bedford." This caused murmurs of surprise but Cromwell had expected this and continued reading, raising his voice only slightly so that he could be heard above the whisperings. "And also by this patent to grant her lands worth one hundred thousand pounds a year, for the maintaining of her dignity."

From her hiding place, Katherine could not suppress a gasp of astonishment. A hundred thousand pounds a year was an astronomical sum, larger by far than the allowance that she, the _Queen_ , had at her disposal for her household and expenses. In the space of barely a minute, Henry had not only made Anne a duchess twice over and therefore the highest-ranking peer in England, granting her titles that were once held by his great-uncle, Jasper Tudor, he had also made her the richest person in the country, after himself.

Katherine was not the only one taken aback by this but Henry seemed unaware of the murmurings as he rose from his throne and stepped down from the dais, bending down a little and extending both his hands to help her to her feet.

At his signal, the page bearing the ducal coronet stepped forward, bowing low as Henry lifted it from the cushion on which it sat, gently setting in on Anne's head, stepping back to survey the effect for a moment before taking the mantle from her ladies and placing it around her shoulders. He leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss on the base of her neck before taking the now rolled up patent from Master Cromwell and handing it to Anne.

"The patent of your nobility."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Anne's voice was soft but she looked Henry straight in the eye as she spoke, meeting his gaze fearlessly, like his equal.

Taking her hand in his, Henry kissed it gently before turning to lead her out of the throne room, towards the Great Hall where a banquet had been laid out in honour of the new Duchess.

The garter king at arms, crying out; "His Majesty the King and Her Grace the Duchess of Pembroke and Bedford."

With Henry and Anne leading the procession, the rest of the court followed, in order of precedence, with Mary escorted by the Duke of Suffolk. Only one man remained behind and, once the others were safely out of earshot, he approached the curtains, bowing low.

"Your Majesty."

Stepping out from her hiding place, Katherine extended her hand for his kiss. "An unexpected move on the King's part, Sir Thomas." She remarked ruefully.

"Indeed." More's frown spoke of his disapproval more eloquently than words ever could. "Perhaps His Majesty wishes to ensure that he cannot be accused of marrying a commoner." He suggested.

"Perhaps." Katherine allowed, but she did not think that this was the answer, or at least the whole answer. If Henry wanted to raise Anne's status, ennobling her father would achieve that aim. "He wants to make it up to her." She decided. She knew Henry well – how could she not, when she had been a part of his life since he was a young boy, when she first came from Spain to marry his older brother? – and she knew that he had a sentimental side and that it was that side of him that dictated his actions today. "He knows that he cannot make her Queen, not as long as I am alive and he wants to compensate her for that by giving her this title. It is to pass to her offspring," she noted.

"Yes," More agreed with her. As he had been one of the councillors consulted with regard to Anne's ennoblement, he knew as much about the full plans as any man, save Henry himself, did. "His Majesty naturally intends that his first son by Lady Anne... the Duchess will be Prince of Wales but, in addition to their royal titles, their second and third sons will become the Duke of Pembroke and the Duke of Bedford when their mother dies." He explained.

Katherine raised an eyebrow. "He expects three sons from her?" Nobody could ever accuse Henry of not being optimistic about his upcoming second marriage.

More gave her a slight, wry smile. "He _has_ conceded that if they don't have three sons or more, a daughter will be eligible to inherit one of her mother's titles."

Katherine could not return the smile, struck by her husband's confidence that his second wife would produce a family of sons without any trouble. Henry confidently expected three boys from Anne, at the minimum, when she would have been happy just to have one son.

If she'd had a son, then none of this would be happening.


	4. Chapter Three

**_14th July 1528_ **

Preparations for a royal wedding were extensive under any circumstances, with great attention paid to questions of protocol, ceremony and precedence but, given the unusual circumstances surrounding this particular royal wedding, they had many unanswered questions and it was Wolsey's unfortunate task to sort out the details. When the time came, it would also fall to him to preside over the wedding ceremony itself.

Given the situation, he would have thought that a quieter, more private ceremony, followed by announcements about the King's second marriage throughout the kingdom, together with the inclusion of the Princess Consort in the public prayers for the royal family, would be most appropriate but Henry refused to consider it. He insisted that they would have a public wedding at Westminster, the grandest ever seen, and that no expense or trouble was to be spared where the accompanying celebrations were concerned. He was determined that there could be no possible doubt about the status of his future wife in anybody's minds and he intended to make sure that nobody could say that the celebration of his marriage to Anne was second to those that had accompanied his union to Katherine years ago, in any way.

Although Wolsey had feared that Henry's upcoming second union would make him a laughing stock throughout the country and the whole of Europe, those fears had turned out to be largely groundless. The pope had given his permission for this thing to take place and it would therefore be accepted, and the issue of the union would be considered legitimate, entitled to the status of prince and princess and to places in the line of succession appropriate to their sex but it was irritating to know that they were going to have to go through such a farce when the solution could have been so simple.

Had the English bishops been prepared to follow Wolsey's lead and pronounce the marriage doubtful, giving him the power, as papal legate, to dissolve the union between the King and the Lady Katherine, then the pope would have been happy to accept their verdict and use it as an excuse not to make the decision personally, since it would mean that he himself was not put in a position where he would have to choose between alienating one monarch or another.

Had it not been for the Emperor Charles' interference and his step in seizing control of Rome, an act that had proven crucial in terms of tipping the balance of power in Europe, the pope would surely have been happy to pronounce the marriage invalid, pleased to be able to oblige the King who had acted as his champion when he was threatened by the spread of Lutheranism.

Had it not been for Katherine's obstinate refusal to yield and to see the practical necessity for her marriage to be invalidated so that Henry could take a new wife who could give him sons, she could have made things so much easier for all of them, herself included.

Once the annulment was granted, even if he was unable to persuade Henry to abandon the idea of making Anne Boleyn his wife and Queen, to convince him that he would be better off making the girl his mistress and looking instead to one of the ladies of the French royal family as his next wife, at least Anne was known to favour French interests, as Wolsey did. Perhaps they might even have found some common ground. The English people would have accepted her as Queen, in time, and been pleased to know that their King would soon have a son and heir.

Now, he was left with this bizarre situation, a situation that the whole court was guaranteed to find difficult and uncomfortable.

Worst of all, it was a situation that Henry was plainly unhappy and angry about. He was allowed to marry Anne, as he had wished, but it was a compromise. She would be his wife, but not his only wife and regardless of the efforts they made to compensate her for the fact that she would not have the title of Queen, Henry felt guilty about the fact that he was only able to offer her a secondary role. He was not being given the recognition he sought over the fact that his union with Katherine was invalid and that was something he was far from pleased about. Having made the claim, it was a matter of pride for him that he should be declared right. He wanted Anne to be his Queen and she was not going to hold that position, not as long as Katherine lived, at any rate.

Henry was resigned to the prospect of accepting half measures, at least for the present, but if a time should come where he became unsatisfied with the present arrangements, then Wolsey knew that there was an excellent chance that he could end up being blamed for the initial failure to secure the annulment, a failure which had led to this situation.

Heaven help him if that happened.

Much as he hated the idea of fawning over Thomas Boleyn's daughter, the Duke of Norfolk's niece, a girl he was certain was being coached by her male relatives, instructed to be on the look-out for any possible opportunity to weaken his position and bring him down, a time might come when he would be very glad that he had done everything he could possibly do to secure her position as Princess Consort and to see to it that her future role was an honoured one.

If the King turned on him, then she might be the only person in all of England who would be able to speak for him.

If she was willing to do so...

* * *

Although she was an accomplished horsewoman, more than capable of managing her own mount and of keeping pace with Henry or with any other man at court as they rode, today Anne had opted to ride pillion on a velvet covered saddle behind Henry, her hands resting lightly around his waist, both of them enjoying their physical closeness, as well as the fact that they were away from the court and could enjoy relative privacy, accompanied by only a few favoured courtiers; Henry's brother-in-law, the Duke of Suffolk, his friend Sir Anthony Knivert and Anne's brother, George, along with a small handful of attendants.

Ostensibly, they were hunting but nobody was especially concerned with keeping an eye out for any deer or other quarry. The outing was more for Henry's sake, to help to cheer him up after the news of the death of Sir William Compton, one of his closest friends.

To make matters worse, Compton had died of the sweating sickness, perhaps the most dreaded illness after the black plague, and as his home was scarcely forty miles away from London, the prospect of the disease striking here could not safely be discounted.

Wolsey and Master Cromwell had been instructed to make arrangements so that the court would be able to disperse, at a moment's notice, if the disease should strike here and Henry busied himself with preparing infusions and remedies for himself and for those closest to him, so that they could strengthen themselves and hope to ward off the sickness. Henry also predicted that the exercise they were taking now, out in the open air, would also help to fortify them.

Although Henry and Anne seemed perfectly content with one another's company, she leaning her head on his shoulder as they rode and he turning his head periodically to brush a gentle kiss against her cheek or neck, and although George Boleyn seemed to take a measure of satisfaction in seeing how devoted the King was to his sister, the ride was a dull one for the other members of their party, especially Knivert and Brandon.

Both men had been Henry's close friends since their boyhood and were accustomed to spending almost the entire day in the saddle, sometimes up to several times a week, attending Henry when he rode out to hunt but while the sport was exciting as a rule, it was far too tame for their liking today. Even if they spotted a stag or any other animal, they could not give it chase while Anne was riding behind Henry, for fear that she might be unseated if he spurred his horse to a gallop. He would never forgive himself if she took a tumble and was injured. Instead, they were condemned to a slow, plodding ride, listening to Henry and Anne's whispers and laughter, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that, as far as the couple were concerned, they might as well be alone for they certainly did not seem to register that there were others with them.

Had they been alone, Brandon would have loved to be able to quiz Henry about his upcoming nuptials, lightly ribbing his friend about the fact that he was about to be a husband twice over, doubling both the pleasures and the headaches of matrimony but, in the presence of the bride-to-be, no such sentiments could be uttered and, close friend or not, Brandon knew that he was likely to find himself on the receiving end of a stiff rebuke if he dared to say anything that might offend Anne, of whom Henry was ridiculously protective, shielding her from all possible insults and slights.

Brandon would not put it past his friend to banish him again if he dared to say a word against his beloved, privately or publicly, and his position was too shaky for him to be able to take the risk of presuming on Henry's friendship.

When Margaret returned to the court – at the moment, only Brandon was welcome to return while his wife was still technically under a sentence of banishment and would have to wait for Henry's invitation before she could show her face again, despite the fact that he was her brother – it was unlikely that she would be impressed by the new Duchess of Pembroke. She may have been willing to accept the necessity of their accepting Thomas Boleyn's overtures in order to enable them to return to court but that did not mean that she would be willing to accept the idea of yielding precedence to the man's daughter, no matter what the circumstances were.

It could not be denied that Margaret possessed her share of the Tudor temper and, while he hoped for the sake of their future standing at court and friendship with Henry that his wife would be able to hold her tongue around her soon to be sister-in-law, Brandon would have been lying if he claimed that there was no part of him that would be amused if fireworks followed her introduction to Anne – and despite the demure, innocent demeanour she could adopt when it suited her to do so, Brandon suspected that Anne too possessed more steel than most people gave her credit for.

In her own way, she could prove to be as ruthless as her father and uncle, or as courageous and determined as her Howard grandfather, the Earl of Surrey, who had defended the country so ably at the Battle of Flodden Field, despite his advanced age... and his reward had been to be executed on the orders of the late King, the seventh Henry to rule England.

Brandon suppressed a shudder at the reminder of how fleeting royal favour could be, well aware that he was very fortunate to be alive right now, let alone welcomed back at court. The marriage of an English princess was an affair of state, not one of the heart and despite Margaret's insistence that Henry had agreed that if she did her duty to England by marrying the aged King of Portugal, she would be free to take a second husband of her choice, they both knew that they had committed treason by marrying without royal approval.

At the moment, Margaret was second in line to the throne after her niece, Mary, and their newborn son, christened Edward in honour of his great-grandfather, King Edward the Fourth, was third.

The Tudors were a young royal dynasty and therefore doubly careful of their heirs, so Brandon could have found himself charged with plotting on behalf of his wife and his infant son, and such an accusation could bring a man to the scaffold. He was very fortunate that Boleyn had approached him before Edward's birth, restoring to him to Henry's favour before it could be alleged that he harboured ambitions to see his infant son on the throne.

Although there were few at court who were unaware of the fact that Thomas Boleyn was an ambitious man and although Brandon knew as soon as the man came down to Suffolk to seek him out as an ally against Wolsey, promising to persuade Henry to welcome him back to court, that he was not offering his help out of the goodness of his heart and that he was likely to derive far more benefit from the association than Brandon was, he was astounded when he learned exactly how high Boleyn was aiming on his daughter's behalf.

Not satisfied with seeing to it that Wolsey was dragged down from his high position in Henry's favour, enabling them to reap the spoils of his fall, Boleyn and Norfolk had their eyes on the highest prize in England after the King's crown: the Queen's place. They intended to see to it that Katherine of Aragon, daughter of two monarchs, was put aside after so many years of loyal, loving marriage so that Anne Boleyn could fill her vacant place on the throne and in the King's bed where she would, with God's help, produce a son of Boleyn and Howard as well as Tudor blood to be the next ruler of England.

How deeply involved in the plotting was Anne?

Although they counted him as their ally, Brandon knew that neither Boleyn nor Norfolk fully trusted him yet, not enough to let him in on all of their secrets, particularly those relating to the girl who was their greatest asset in their quest to wrest power from Wolsey's hands.

Even as he watched her, Brandon could not tell whether Anne was privy to the plots of her male relations or whether they were merely taking advantage of her existing relationship with Henry to seize power, warning her to protect her virtue at all costs, refusing to yield to his advances for the sake of her reputation and future prospects when, in truth, they were less concerned with her virtue than they were with the necessity to prolong Henry's interest as long as possible, by whatever means necessary, so that he did not tire of her before the ultimate prize was within their grasp.

Anne's expression betrayed no hint of calculation; she giggled in delight as Henry kissed her in a ticklish spot behind her ear, her blue eyes radiant with joy. If she was not truly in love with Henry, then she was a consummate actress, the most skilled that Brandon had ever seen.

How did she feel about the idea of accepting a place as Henry's second wife? The title of Princess Consort was a grand one, and she would enjoy every honour and privilege normally reserved for the King's wife, Henry had seen to that, but it could not compare to the title of Queen, the title she would have to wait for as long as Katherine was alive.

As curious as he was, he knew better to ask. Even if Anne did not take umbrage at the question, prompting Henry to lash out at Brandon for upsetting her, he didn't expect an honest answer from her. He suspected that she was somebody who was capable of concealing her feelings when she needed to and he doubted if her own father would ever know what was truly in her heart.

The cooks in the palace kitchens had prepared a meal for them to take with them and the grooms' mounts were laden with baskets of food, with rolled up rugs strapped to the back of their saddles.

At Henry's command, the party came to a stop at a clearing by a huge, spreading oak tree. Henry dismounted, lifting Anne down and leading her over to the tree, where one of the grooms had hastily laid out a rug to cushion the ground and to protect their clothes from being stained by grass or soil. He and Anne sat close to the tree trunk, where its branches could shield the lady from the blazing heat of the noon sun, his arm around her slender waist. George sat next to his sister and Brandon and Knivert opposite them.

The grooms unpacked the baskets, laying out silver plates and cutlery for everybody before setting out the food.

Brandon and Knivert watched as Henry picked up a small honey cake and brought it to Anne's mouth, smiling indulgently as she ate it before leaning forward to kiss her sticky lips. It was his turn to be fed a delicacy next and he took it from her hand without hesitation, nipping playfully at her fingers.

"It seems that His Majesty is in love." Knivert remarked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Yes," Brandon agreed quietly. He had known Henry for years, since they were boys, before his friend became King and he knew well that he was a man who was very fond of the company of women but he had never seen him look at any woman with the same tender adoration that was now directed at Anne.

He found himself fervently hoping that she was sincere in her feelings towards Henry, who was certain to be devastated if he discovered that she was not, if he thought that her attentions towards him were motivated by ambition for herself and for her family rather than from genuine affection for him.

They ate in silence, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that Henry and Anne were so absorbed with one another that it was doubtful whether or not they truly noticed that they were not alone but at the same time, reluctant to be the one to break the spell around the couple, averting their eyes, as though it could provide them with a measure of privacy.

God knew that it was rare enough for Henry to be allowed even this much privacy with the woman he loved.

A rustle from the forest nearby – poachers, in all likelihood – caught Brandon's attention but the hissed words that followed were heard by all of them.

"Is she the one who's to be the second wife, do you think?"

If the speaker's companion replied, they did not hear it.

Anne flinched at the term, as though she had been slapped, and Henry protectively tightened his arm around her waist, as though he could shield her from the sting of the words, motioning for the grooms to find and catch the speaker. They obediently began to run in the direction of the voice, even though the rustling in the forest and the beat of rapidly retreating footsteps told them that the culprit was already running away and they knew that it was unlikely that they would be able to catch him.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Henry told Anne quietly. He would have liked to be able to tell her that this was temporary, that once they were married and the situation was regularized, the people would come to accept her and love her at least as much as they loved Katherine but he could not speak the words, knowing in his heart that it was a promise that he might not be able to keep. He might be King but even he could not dictate what his subjects thought or felt about this, or any other issue.

Despite their efforts to feign cheerfulness, to pretend that there had been no interruption, their mood was noticeably dampened and it was contagious. Nobody had much appetite for the food in front of them so, once the grooms returned with regretful reports that they had been unable to catch the culprit, Henry gave orders for them to pack up the remains of the meal and then they began to make their way back to the city and to the palace.

The odour assaulted their nostrils as they approached the gates of the city.

"Dear God, what is that smell?" George demanded, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Anne gagged, holding a handkerchief in front of her nose to muffle the worst of the stench but Henry sniffed at the air, his face paling as he identified the smell and realized the significance of it.

"It's vinegar!" He leaped down from the saddle, laying a hand on Anne's knee to forestall her before she too could dismount. "Stay here, sweetheart." He instructed firmly before hurrying to the gates to one of the guards, demanding of him what was happening.

"It's the plague, Your Majesty," the man told him, his voice betraying his panic, despite his efforts to remain calm and in control. "Three hundred deaths in London this day alone."

"My God!" Knivert exclaimed, horrified. Although the sweating sickness had carried off Compton, he lived a good forty miles away. If the sickness had already travelled to London, who knew how many thousands it had carried off along the way?

After giving orders that Dr Linacre should be sent for without delay, Henry returned to his companions, trying to decide what he should do. He was concerned about Mary and about Katherine too, despite the problems she was causing. Since he already knew that Anne was safe and well, he should turn her over to the care of her brother or of one of his friends so that they could escort her to her rooms while he went to find out how the other two women in his life were faring but he could not bear to tear himself away from her, especially when he saw the fear on her face at the sight of the smoke rising from the city, indicating that the bodies of the dead were being burned to help stop the disease spreading any further than it had already.

He made his decision.

"Go the Princess Mary, Your Grace, and to the Queen." He instructed Brandon. "Tell them that they are to keep to their own apartments until further notice and that the number of people attending them must be reduced to a minimum. Sir Anthony," he addressed Knivert, "you must find Cardinal Wolsey and let him know what is happening. Tell him that I am well and that I will see him soon. You should return to the palace too, George, and let your father know about this. I will see your sister safely to her chambers."

The three men chorused their agreement, each accepting the task laid upon him, and they rode through the gates of the city, towards the palace, looking determinedly ahead, covering their faces to block out the stench of burning bodies and vinegar and trying to shut out the pleas for aid from the stricken townspeople.

Henry mounted his horse again, feeling Anne's arms wrapping around his waist. He covered her joined hands with one of his, hoping to reassure her with his touch and speaking encouragingly, for his sake as much as for hers.

"Don't be afraid, sweetheart."

With Anne behind him, he rode into the city, saying a silent prayer that his country would be saved from this terrible plague.

* * *

**_17th July 1528_ **

On Dr Linacre's recommendation, courtiers were instructed to reduce the number of people attending them to an absolute minimum, to limit their contact with others and to keep to their own chambers as much as possible, to minimize the risks of their contracting and spreading the disease. Henry distributed his own remedies against the sweating sickness to those closest to him, including an infusion that he had sent Anne with instructions that she should take it three times daily, and more often if she felt in any way unwell.

All but one of Anne's ladies-in-waiting had quit the court, returning to their families' homes in the country, where they would remain until all threat of illness had passed and they could safely return to Whitehall. Only Lady Alice Wentworth, along with Emma, one of the maids from Hever who had accompanied Anne to court to wait on her, remained to tend to her needs.

The magnificent apartment she was to occupy after she married Henry and became Princess Consort was not yet complete and, until it was, Wolsey – who had been graciousness itself towards her of late – had insisted that she should use his own rooms, for as long as she had need of them, asking her to promise that she would let him know if there was anything else he could do to ensure that she was as comfortable as possible.

She doubted that he would have been half as eager to accommodate her if he knew about the forbidden Lutheran text she had concealed under the bed.

Even if Wolsey's offer of his rooms had been made more to please Henry than to please her, Anne was still glad of the spacious suite, especially since she was more or less confined to it until the sickness abated.

It was strange to live at the court, to know that there were hundreds of courtiers living under the same roof, with well over a thousand servants, but to see only a few people. Anne's days were long and lonely, with long hours spend reading, embroidering, practicing her music or playing cards with Lady Alice broken only by occasional visits from Henry, who tried to spend as much time with her as he could but who was often obliged to give his attention to affairs of state.

Anne sat in front of her dressing table, gazing at her reflection in the mirror while Lady Alice gently drew a bone comb through her long, dark hair, teasing out the tangles that had formed after a restless night. A gasp of pain from Emma caught Anne's attention and she looked over to where her maid was laying out the gown she had selected for today, shaking out petticoats.

"Child, what is it?" Emma was only a couple of years Anne's junior, the daughter of the cook at Hever and a welcome playmate for Anne when they were children, on the days when George had boys his own age visiting and he scorned the company of his younger sister, but the other girl seemed very young and very vulnerable right now, arousing Anne's concern.

"Nothing, Your Grace, I... I just felt a little dizzy."

"Well, come here then." Anne invited, extending her arms and motioning for Emma to sit next to her on the cushioned bench and rest for a while, until she recovered from her dizzy spell. If her father could see her now, he would undoubtedly issue a sharp rebuke, sternly reminding her that the King's future wife had no business being so familiar with her servants but she didn't care.

"No, I... I still feel dizzy. I..." Emma held a hand to her abdomen, turning to Anne in a fright. "That's it – I've caught the sweat!"

"No, gentle child," Anne hurried over to her side, taking her hands in hers. Henry had relayed Dr Linacre's warning about the dangers of panic when it came to the sweating sickness, stressing that it was vital for everybody to remain in calm, cheerful spirits as much as possible, to avoid bringing on the sickness through their fear, so she knew how important it was that she calm the other girl. "It's just a headache, no more than that." She tried to sound confident and reassuring.

"No, it's not. I have... I have pains in my... in my stomach." Anne caught her as she tumbled to the ground. "Isn't that a sign? How can you deny it? I'm going to die!"

"No, no, you're not going to die." Anne caught Emma's face between her hands, looking her in the eyes and willing her to calm down, before her panic brought on a true case of the sweating sickness. "Listen to me, you're not going to die. Come here," she hugged her gently, grateful to see that her words seemed to be having their desired effect, swaying for a moment and making soothing noises, not noticing that Lady Alice had taken a few steps back, standing well away from them.

However, Emma did not stay reassured for long; a moment later, she pulled away from Anne, wailing and clutching at her stomach, pushing feebly to get her worried mistress to move away.

When Anne tried to catch her again, to calm her, her hand came away wet with Emma's sweat.

* * *

The message from Anne was a brief one, arriving just before he was due to visit her in her rooms for an early dinner but even the couple of hastily penned lines filled Henry's heart with terror.

_'My poor maid has this day caught the sweat and died. I beg Your Majesty, what should I do?'_

"I want to see her." He could imagine how frightened Anne must be, how much she would need him to be by her side to reassure her.

"I would counsel against contact with infected persons or those who have had any contact with infected persons." Wolsey said cautiously, not wanting Henry to think that he was unconcerned about Anne but, at the same time, knowing how vital it was that he guard his person against harm. "You are the King of England."

"Yes, but what if she... what if she dies?" The thought was so painful that he could barely give it voice. The thought of losing Anne was unimaginable. He wanted to see her, he wanted to keep her at the palace, where he could be on hand if she needed him, where he could send her his most potent infusions and where Dr Linacre could examine her hourly if needs be, alert to any possible sign that she might have contracted the dreaded disease but he knew that it would not be possible. If a person who had been exposed to the contagion remained at court, then there was a risk that the illness would spread to others and that was a chance that they could not take, not even when Anne was the person concerned. "Oh God." He sighed deeply, distraught, burying his face in his hands for a moment before looking up, his decision made. "All right. Tell her she must quit the palace. She must go with her father back to Hever and, by all means, shut herself up there. I will send her infusions to fortify herself and I will write to her."

Wolsey nodded comprehension. "And what of the Princess Mary? And the Queen?" He prompted.

"Princess Mary will be removed to Beaulieu, with a small household." Henry decided, naming one of the royal manors, far enough away from London to be safe from contagion. He frowned at the thought of Katherine. "Lady Katherine may accompany or stay here, as she pleases!" He added with a dark scowl.

Wolsey wisely did not comment on that. "And you, Your Majesty?"

"I will shut myself up here and keep the sweat at bay with every means."

Wolsey rose from his chair. "If I may advise Your Majesty, keep as few people around you as possible and in that way you can reduce the risk of contamination."

"God bless us both." Henry murmured. And God protect Anne, he added silently.

"Indeed."

* * *

**_20th July 1528_ **

_'The Duchess of Pembroke is also sick, yet still survives.'_ }

Wolsey's letter was a long one but only one sentence of it registered with Henry, the words reverberating in his mind, over and over and over, until it felt as though they must be branded on his flesh.

Anne had been taken ill on the journey back to Hever and she lay there now, hovering between life and death.

Anne was ill and he was forced to remain away from her. He wasn't there to comfort her, to sit with her or to pray by her bedside because he was the King of England and could not take irresponsible chances with his own safety, even if the alternative was being away from the woman he loved at a when she needed him most.

He sent Dr Linacre to her, instructing him to save Anne's life, but he was afraid that this was an instruction that his physician would not be able to follow, even if he was the most skilled in the country. The sweating sickness was a terrible one and few were fortunate enough to survive, even when they were given the greatest possible care.

He had seen to it that she would have that.

The only other thing he could do for Anne now was pray but as he knelt in the chapel, the familiar prayers would not come.

He was not unaware of the rumours circulating through London and the rest of the country, the whisperings that such sicknesses were invariably sent as a punishment for sin and the thought haunted him, because he knew that he was not blameless.

He had taken the easy way out, accepting the pope's offer to allow him to take Anne as a second wife, on condition that he dropped his suit of nullity and continued to accept Katherine as his wife, even though he knew that his union with her was incestuous, accursed and unlawful, even though he should have persisted with his case for nullity until that fact was publicly acknowledged and he could separate from Katherine, once and for all.

He was weak.

He wanted to be married to Anne and he did not want to have to wait for the long years that he knew it would take for them to secure an annulment if he decided to keep fighting – and if they were able to secure an annulment at all, given the pope's cowardice, Katherine's obstinacy and her nephew's interference. If he was honest with himself, he was also pleased to know that his beloved daughter would not be branded a bastard, even if that was a label that should have been hers by rights, his fatherly love for Mary allowing him to be blinded to the justice of the situation.

He was a fool to think that God would have been prepared to turn a blind eye to this but he had never dreamed that he would have to pay such a high price for his decision to yield. He never expected that God would choose to strike down Anne in payment for his cowardice.

Surely God could understand that although he wanted more than anything else to set the record straight, to be able to end the state of sin in which he was living, that simply wasn't possible.

Surely God would not be so cruel as to punish Anne, who was innocent in this matter, for _his_ failures.

Surely He could see that, of all the prices that might be exacted, Anne was the one price that he would never be able to bear paying.

Let Him take somebody else, _anybody_ else, as long as Anne was spared!

He would do anything!

Henry had intended to pray but instead, he found himself bargaining, willing to offer whatever it took to persuade God to spare Anne's life.

Even if he was forced to allow Katherine to retain her titles as his wife and as his Queen in name, he would see to it that they were in name only. He had already ceased to share her bed and board and he would never again live with her as man and wife, even if he was tempted to do so. In public, it would be Anne, his _true_ wife and the woman who should be Queen by rights, who appeared on his arm, with Katherine on his other arm only on the most formal state occasions, when her presence could not be dispensed with. He might be forced to allow Mary to continue to be recognized as a legitimate princess, instead of as the bastard she really was, but he would do everything in his power to see to it that neither she nor her descendants would ever be able to lay claim to the throne to which they had no true right in the eyes of God.

The sound of approaching footfalls and the rustle of silk intruded on his thoughts and Henry knew without turning around who it was who dared to interrupt him at his prayers.

Katherine.

Although she was offered the opportunity to join Mary at Beaulieu, safely out of the reach of the sweating sickness, she had decided against joining their daughter, choosing instead to remain and the palace and insisting that her rightful place was by his side... wanting to flaunt the fact that she was still his wife, despite the fact that they both knew the truth, Henry thought bitterly.

She walked forward to stand next to him, scorning the cushion there and choosing instead to kneel on the stone floor, taking out her rosary beads and beginning to pray, her lips moving quickly as she recited her familiar litany of Latin prayers.

She was the cause of all of this!

If she had only seen the truth, as he had, and allowed him to be free of their accursed union, instead of refusing out of obstinacy and pride, enlisting her powerful nephew as an ally, then the country would not be stricken with a plague now.

Was she praying for Anne, along with all of the countless thousands of unfortunate souls she had doomed to death with her stubbornness, hoping that they would be spared, or was she praying that Anne's tenuous hold on life would slip, as though she believed that that would be enough to convince him to abandon his quest to take a second wife, to convince him to accept their bastard daughter as his lawful heiress.

How little she knew him!

With her there, muttering her prayers, he could not focus on his own thoughts and his own communication with God. If she was going to insist on interrupting, on keeping him from praying for Anne's life and health, then he would not stay here with her. He would have to go elsewhere to pray, somewhere Katherine would not be able to interrupt him.

Katherine glanced up as he stood, pausing in her devotions to give him a small smile but if she hoped that Henry would return the smile, she was doomed to be disappointed.

He glared down at her, his eyes filled with hate and when he spoke, his voice was cold and angry.

"If she dies, I will never forgive you!"

* * *

**_22nd July 1528_ **

Dr Linacre told them that there was no hope.

Anne's vital signs were weak and worsening. It was a wonder that she had been able to cling to life this long. With the sweating sickness, a strong, healthy man might feel fine at noon but be dead by suppertime and this was the fifth day since Anne had started to feel unwell but while, under other circumstances, it would be an encouraging sign that she had managed to survive this long, Dr Linacre did not think that she would rally.

She was slipping away, slowly but surely.

A priest had been sent for, the same priest who had held Anne over the font twenty years ago, when she was christened.

George was near tears as he prayed, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he pleaded with God for his sister's life. Boleyn held a rosary in one hand but he could not concentrate on praying, not now.

It was a cold, cruel fact of life that parents often had to bury their children, instead of it happening the other way around, as nature intended. He had buried two sons and a daughter, lost in their infancy or their toddling years, along with his wife and perhaps he could have resigned himself to the idea of burying Anne too... except that Anne was not just his daughter. She was his great hope for the future, the means through which the entire family would prosper, rising to the ranks of the highest nobility in England, among the first families in England.

At least she would be if she lived.

If she died, as she seemed likely to, then the King would mourn for her for a time and perhaps he would even favour her relatives with a few offices and stewardships in her memory, treating them kindly for her sake, but then it would be over. Even the titles she held as Duchess of Pembroke and Bedford, together with her lands, would revert to the Crown rather than to her family; they were entailed to her offspring, not to her father or brother.

Another family would see their daughter as Princess Consort, another family would see a son with their blood sit on the throne of England.

And the Boleyns would quickly be forgotten – or, if they were remembered, remembered only as the family who, but for a cruel trick of Fate, could have had it all.

* * *

**_23rd July 1528_ **

"Sir!" The maid's face was animated as she ran down from Anne's bedchamber, where she had gone to deliver fresh sheets to the old woman engaged to nurse the daughter of the house during her sickness. "Come and see her!"

"Get the master." George instructed her, running down the gallery to the steps leading up to Anne's bedchamber. "Papa! Papa, come quickly!"

Anne was sitting up in bed when he entered the room, her face white and drawn, her eyes rimmed with dark shadows. She managed a weak smile as George leaned against the end of his bed, speaking his name in a soft voice.

Their father was in the room an instant later, kneeling by Anne's side and seizing her hand, covering it with kisses, tears of relief and joy in his eyes.

"Oh, thanks be to God!" Boleyn's smile was wide as he looked up at his daughter, unable to believe that she was still with him, that she had pulled through, against all odds. "Do you know what you've done, child?" He asked her. "You've risen from the dead!" He reached up to touch the side of her face, relieved to see that there was no trace of fever or sweat there. She really was recovered! "Now you can go back to the King again and you can start to make plans for the wedding..."

Her father continued talking, laying out enthusiastic plans for her future and the future of their whole family but Anne barely heard a word he was saying.

She tried to smile, to voice agreement with what he was saying, sensing that it was what was expected of her, but her lips and her tongue would not obey her, her disappointment over his reaction, over the fact that he cared far more that she would now be able to be Henry's wife than he did that she was alive and well quenching her relief and joy at her own recovery.

She leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes, as though by doing so she could shut out the pain his words caused her.

She couldn't.

* * *

**_13th August 1528_ **

When he received Anne's father's letter, assuring him that she had pulled through and that she was well on the road to recovery, Henry didn't think that anything could make him happier than that marvellous news, than knowing that out of all of the people in England who became sick, his darling was one of the fortunate few spared by God, but his joy then paled in comparison to his feelings today, when he would be reunited with Anne after an absence of almost a full month.

She was not yet strong enough to return to the court, Dr Linacre insisted that after her illness, she needed to spend at least a few weeks longer recuperating in the clean air of the country before she returned to London, but she was back on her feet again and there was no possible threat of contamination, which meant that he could see her.

As soon as he could get away, he rode to Hever, accompanied by only a small handful of attendants, all of whom were ordered to wait behind in the castle while he rode out after Anne, hurrying to meet her at their pre-arranged meeting place.

She had been riding with a companion, who remained as a discreet chaperone, but she was sitting on the ground when he rode up, standing as he dismounted and crossing the short distance between them while he tied his mount to a fence to keep it from wandering away.

Anne was pale after her illness and when he took her in his arms, he could feel that she had lost weight but Henry didn't think that she had ever seemed more beautiful to him.

She was alive.

She was safe.

That was all that mattered.

He held her close, cradling her head against his chest and kissing her over and over before picking her up and swinging her around, overjoyed that she was back with him, where she belonged.

God had spared her.

God had heard Henry's prayers, known what was truly in his heart, and He had spared Anne.

It was a miracle that Henry would never be able to do enough to show his gratitude for, but he could start by honouring the promises he had made to God in exchange for Anne's recovery, no matter what happened, regardless of how many people tried to tempt or coerce him into breaking his vows.

He wasn't going to take any chances.

God had been merciful towards him once but Henry was not going to risk Anne being taken from him again.


	5. Chapter Four

**_1st March 1529_ **

"You look beautiful, Anne," Mary Boleyn said, carefully fixing a pendant with a pearl about the size of a strawberry set in gold filigree, a gift from the King, around her sister's neck while two ladies-in-waiting knelt down to straighten Anne's long train. "I can't believe that you're getting married!" She enthused, kissing her cheek, unable to believe that the baby of the family was about to marry the King of England. Anne smiled half-heartedly but didn't say anything. "Aren't you happy?" Mary prompted her.

"Yes, of course." Anne responded but her tone was unenthusiastic. She thought that she would have preferred it if their wedding ceremony was a smaller, simpler and more private one rather than the elaborate public celebration called for today. As happy she was to be marrying Henry at last, she couldn't be happy with the circumstances. Naturally, Katherine would not be attending but that was only one small mercy and she did not expect the day to be a comfortable one, by any stretch of the imagination.

"Of course she's happy!" Her father insisted heartily, frowning reprovingly at Mary for suggesting that Anne might not be in the presence of other attendants. He motioned to the ladies-in-waiting, indicating for them to leave the room. "You may leave us." He instructed them curtly, waiting until they had made their curtsies and departed before he turned his attention to his younger daughter. "Perhaps you should sit down, Anne," he said, giving her a thin smile. "It will be a while before it is time for us to go downstairs to the courtyard. You should make sure that you rest when you can before the ceremony. Today is going to be a long day, after all, and the last thing that you want is to be tired out on your wedding day."

"That would be a shame." Anne agreed, although she did not take his advice and sit down, choosing instead to pace back and forth, being very careful not to let her gown get creased or grubby. She frowned as she brushed a non-existent wrinkle out of the white gown she had designed for the wedding. The gown was an exquisite creation of silk and lace, embroidered with silver and seed pearls, one that had taken weeks for Anne's dressmakers to perfect. It was a virginal garment, and she wore her hair long and loose, crowned with a diadem of pearls, as befitted a maiden on her wedding day... except that she was no ordinary bride, and this was no ordinary marriage. "For the King's concubine to yawn at the ceremony or at the banquet afterwards."

"Anne!" He snapped her name angrily.

"What?" She asked, whirling around to look at him. "You know that that's what the people are going to be thinking."

"Only if you behave like this ceremony is going to make a concubine of you." He countered firmly, determined to make her see sense before she could go out of the room and irritate the King by making a similar remark in his hearing, something that would only serve to anger him, especially given the trouble that he was taking to ensure that she could have no possible complaint about the magnificence or grandeur of the celebrations, and that was something that they did not need. "You are not about to become the King's mistress, you will be his wife – his only wife, as far as His Majesty is concerned," he added, wanting to cheer her up, "and that is how you are to act. As far as you are concerned, Katherine does not exist today, do you understand?" When Anne did not respond, he caught her by the wrist and shook her slightly. "Do you understand?" He repeated.

"Yes, Papa." Anne nodded, pulling her wrist out of his grasp and thinking that if her union with Henry was to be unusual, at least it would be legally binding, under both ecclesiastical and secular law. A mistress could be taken up and discarded at a man's whim, whether their relationship had lasted a matter of days or gone on for years, regardless of how many children resulted from it. A wife – even if she was a second wife – still had rights and, more importantly, so did her children. Regardless of whether Anne was called Queen or Princess Consort, her sons would be the rightful heirs to the throne, even ahead of Katherine's daughter, and her daughters would be princesses, wives to Europe's royalty.

"Nobody can think that you're his concubine, Anne," Mary added, trying to cheer her sister up. "Would the King have Princess Mary carrying your train if he just saw you as a concubine?"

"No," Anne agreed readily, "only if he thought that other people would see me that way and wanted to use her to prevent that." As touched as she was by Henry's determined efforts to bolster her status, those efforts were also a reminder that her status was shaky and needed to be bolstered. She would have preferred it if the annulment had been granted and there was no shadow over her status and no need to take such measures.

She did not expect Princess Mary – her future stepdaughter, she supposed – to like her, especially since the girl was surely well aware that she would lose her place as heiress presumptive and any hope of becoming Queen as soon as Anne was delivered of a son, but this certainly was not going to help matters.

Even her father had nothing to say in response to her words. He knew as well as she did that there was a great deal of truth in them.

It seemed as though they had been planning this wedding for years. They had had permission to marry for almost a year and had intended to marry in the late summer or early autumn but when the sweating sickness struck, they had had to postpone it and, rather than marry in winter, which seemed to be a rather grim way to begin a marriage, Henry wanted to wait until the coming of the spring, which gave them more time to organize the ceremony and to ensure that preparations for her life as Princess Consort were complete before they said their vows.

Her new suite of rooms was lying in readiness, lavishly decorated and furnished with the most exquisite, finely crafted items she had ever seen, and tonight she and Henry would go there, to share a bed for the first time. Dozens of beautiful gowns, all crafted from the finest materials and made in the latest fashions, favouring the French styles, were stowed away in her dressing room and her jewel casket was full, almost to overflowing, with the pieces Henry had commissioned for her.

She might not be allowed to carry the title but she was certainly being provided for like a Queen.

When a page tapped on the door, announcing that it was time for them to begin their journey to the church. Offering Anne his arm, Boleyn led his daughter out of her rooms, escorting her through the corridors and down to the courtyard, with Mary and Anne's ladies following behind them in procession. The King was already at the church, awaiting them but Princess Mary was down in the courtyard, waiting for them, a sullen expression on her face as she sat in the second carriage, clearly none too pleased with the idea of riding behind Anne and her father and brother, while they took precedence over her.

Mary Boleyn gave the young girl a slight smile when she stepped out into the courtyard but she did not return it, her unhappiness palpable, and as happy as she was for Anne, Mary could not help feeling sorry for the young princess, knowing how much this marriage was going to shake the child's world.

Nobody would ever have dreamed of demanding that Katherine should be present for the wedding ceremony, even if Henry was not adamant that he did not want her to be anywhere near them on his and Anne's day but Princess Mary, on the other hand, was not allowed to refuse to be present or to refuse to carry out the duties that her father had decreed for her today.

Even her mother, on whom she had counted to defend her from this indignity, counselled her to obey without argument. Her father was not only her father, he was also her King and she therefore owed him a double obedience. Attending Anne might be unpleasant and humiliating but since it did not go against her conscience to do so, and since it was her father's wish that she do so, it was her duty to obey.

Anne's father bent down slightly to whisper something in her ear, waiting until she nodded comprehension before helping her into the conveyance that was to carry her through the streets to the church, an open carriage festooned with flowers and swathed in white silk, before he mounted his own horse. He and George would ride beside her at the head of the procession and they were to be accompanied by a company of the King's troops, gaily liveried in the Tudor colours of green and white and bearing banners emblazoned with the Tudor rose. Princess Mary was to ride in the next carriage, and she would be followed by other carriages carrying Anne's sister and her ladies-in-waiting.

The streets of London were lined with people as the procession passed, all of them curious to witness this event, which would have been completely unthinkable a year ago, and to see the young woman who was to be their King's wife.

Pageantry always impressed the people and Anne herself was certainly beautiful enough in her wedding gown to please all of those who came to see a fairytale princess, so while there were few cheers, there were certainly plenty of approving murmurs, enough to drown out any sneers or mocking comments that might have been made about the fact that the King was seeking to take the drastic step of taking Anne as his second wife rather than making her his mistress, as he would ordinarily have been expected to do.

Anne sat back in her carriage, waving and smiling to the people lining the streets as she passed, her father's words to her before she climbed into the carriage reverberating in her mind.

_"No matter how the people react to you, no matter what they say or do, you will smile as if nobody has ever been cheered as loudly or as enthusiastically before."_

Even if the crowds did not greet her as warmly or as enthusiastically as she might have hoped for, as warmly and as enthusiastically as they always greeted Katherine, she should act as though it was, feigning confidence even if she did not feel it.

Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed as though some of the people were responding to her happy, confident facade, returning her smiles and her waves.

The church was arrayed with flowers and what seemed like all of the nobility and courtiers in the country were present, all arrayed in their finest attire and glittering with jewels as they lined in the pews on either side of the church, waiting for the bride to appear and for the ceremony to begin. Henry was standing by the altar, in front of Cardinal Wolsey, and he, like everybody else, looked to the doorway as soon as Anne and her father appeared there.

Conscious of the curious stares of the courtiers, Anne kept her gaze directed straight ahead of her. She could barely feel her father's hand under her elbow as he guided her down the aisle. Although she could not see Princess Mary, she could sense that the young girl was scowling behind her, most likely mirroring the expression on the face of her aunt, Princess Margaret, whose lips were curled in a slight sneer as Anne passed her by.

Henry's expression was warm and welcoming as he extended his hand towards her, nodding at her father to indicate that he could release her arm, symbolically handing her over to her future husband, and her destiny.

They stood together before Cardinal Wolsey, kneeling on the velvet cushions laid out for them. Princess Mary straightened Anne's train before curtsying to the altar and stepping back, going to stand in the front pew next to her aunt.

It was strange.

After all the long months of planning and preparation leading up to this day, to this moment, both on her part and Henry's and on the parts of her father and her uncle, whose scheming had played no small part, the ceremony itself seemed to fly past Anne in a blur.

Wolsey performed the service, speaking the Latin words that bound them together as man and wife, until death did they part and, despite the unusual circumstances of this particular union, despite the grandeur of their surroundings and the exalted ranks of the bride and the groom in particular, it was the same service that hundreds of parish priests would perform for countless couples this year.

They might have been in a small parish church, alone save the officiating priest and two witnesses.

At Wolsey's signal, they each spoke their vows, exchanging rings and when the service was concluded, Henry leaned forward, his lips meeting Anne's in a tender kiss.

They were married.

Man and wife.

Forever.

As the courtiers applauded, Henry took advantage of the covering noise to bend down to whisper in her ear.

"Are you the Most Happy, my love?" He asked softly, quoting her family's motto.

She nodded, smiling as he kissed her again, half-unable to believe that this was happening.

They were married.

For a moment, it was as though Katherine truly did not exist.

* * *

As Anne was not to hold the title of Queen, at least not yet, there could be no question of a coronation for her but even so, Henry and Wolsey had put their heads together to devise another ceremony for her enthronement, a ceremony with many of the trappings of a coronation, transforming the Duchess of Pembroke and Bedford into the Princess Consort.

Wolsey's smile was wide, almost paternal as he gently set the jewelled crown, specially designed and commissioned for the occasion, on Anne's head and at the feast afterwards, he treated her with marked courtesy and deference.

"He's already trying to win her over," Princess Margaret remarked tartly as she watched from her seat at one of the tables in the Hall. Ordinarily, she would have been sitting at the top table at the dais, as was her right as a Princess of England and as the King's sister, but today, the top table was reserved for Henry and Anne, while she was relegated to one of the ordinary tables, as her young niece was, before she pleaded a headache and left the banquet. Once he learned of it, Henry would undoubtedly be angry over the fact that his daughter had absented herself from the festivities but for the time being he was too enraptured with Anne to pay any attention to his daughter or to anybody else and he had not even noticed when Mary quit the Hall.

As indignant as Margaret was over being demoted to one of the lower tables, her present place gave her an excellent view of Wolsey as he fawned over the new Princess Consort, a sight that was both amusing and ludicrous.

It was well known that Wolsey had never liked Katherine, which was understandable as he favoured a French alliance while she was naturally far more in favour of an Imperial alliance, given her relationship to the Emperor but if he was hoping that Anne's sympathies for the French would win him an ally, Margaret suspected that Wolsey was doomed to be disappointed.

Anne's father sought out Margaret's husband to relay a message from Norfolk, inviting him to join them in their conspiracy against the cardinal and promising to help him win his way back to court and back into Henry's good graces in exchange for his help in bringing Wolsey down. She doubted that they would be content to forget about their plot against him now, especially when they had Anne ideally placed to pour poison in Henry's ear about the man who had once been his most trusted friend and advisor.

They were not the kind of men to fail to take advantage of every tool at their disposal.

Wolsey was already treading on thin ice after his failure to secure the annulment and Margaret suspected that he knew this, despite the fact that there was no sign of it on his expression, which exuded confidence, as it always did. He knew that despite his long years of service, despite everything that he had managed to achieve for Henry so far, it might not be enough to protect him now that he had failed, just as he knew that he might need Anne's help if he hoped to stay in favour and continue to advance his interests but he did not seem to realize that the new Princess Consort was far more likely to work against him than she was to help him – and if she spoke against him, there was a better than fair chance that Henry was going to listen. Margaret frowned as she watched her brother listening intently to his new wife whispering in his ears, as though her words were the most fascinating ever spoken.

He was besotted with her. Anybody with eyes could see it.

"He's making a fool of himself."

"He's in love." Brandon said tolerantly.

"She's not worth it!" She hissed in response. "Look at her – she's a cheap nothing!"

"She's the King's wife now," he reminded her sharply, hoping that nobody else had heard her and would bring her words to Henry's ears, which would undo all the good work he had done trying to restore their position in his favour and ensure that when they were banished from the court again, and this time they would not be invited back. "And she also outranks you," he added, knowing that this was something that she would be especially angry about.

Margaret did not say anything but the expression on her face was more eloquent than words could have been; she liked and respected Katherine, who had been her sister for most of her life, closer to her than she was to Henry in many ways, and to say that she was less than impressed by Anne and resented the idea of having to take second place to her was an understatement.

She was a King's daughter and a King's sister, a Princess of England and she was now expected to pretend that an upstart commoner, no different than any of the other sluts who caught Henry's eye and kept his interest for a time, save in her ability to say 'no' and to continue saying it until she had a ring on her finger and a royal title to boast.

She wondered how Anne felt about losing out on the title of Queen and having to settle for being the Princess Consort but even if the other woman did not like it, Margaret knew that it was likely to be only a matter of time before the Queen's crown was unquestionably hers. She was twenty years younger than Katherine after all and seemed to be in excellent health, despite her brush with the sweating sickness last summer; if she did not die in childbirth – which was admittedly a possibility and which would mean that Henry would be free to marry a second second wife – then it was very probable that she would outlive her and eventually become Queen Anne.

Margaret found herself half-hoping that she would not live to see it. She didn't think that she would be able to stomach such a travesty.

"Whatever you do, be careful not to cross her," her husband warned her in hushed tones. "She has Henry's ear now and she could turn him against you – against us in a heartbeat."

This was undeniable but that did not make it any less unwelcome.

"You can fawn over her if you must," she told him curtly. "I won't." Disgusted by the sight of her brother and Anne, she rose abruptly, snatching up her goblet of wine and leaving the Hall.

Brandon looked worriedly towards the top table, where Henry's attention was caught by his sister's abrupt departure; Margaret had not troubled to be quiet or discreet when she was leaving, alerting Henry to her movements. He was definitely not happy about it and Brandon, hoping to diffuse his anger before his temper could be roused against Margaret, stood and hurried to the dais to pay his respects to the newlyweds, bowing deeply before giving them a wide smile.

"Congratulations, Your Majesties," he said warmly, glad to see that neither of them seemed to be angry with him, whatever their feelings about Margaret's display of impatience. "This is a very happy day."

"It is indeed, Charles." Henry agreed happily, lifting Anne's hand and kissing it before releasing her. "Will you excuse us for a moment, sweetheart?"

"Of course." Anne nodded, returning his smile with one of her own.

Rising from his chair, Henry came around the table to put his arm around Brandon's shoulder, steering him away from the dais and towards a quiet corner, waiting until they were out of earshot before he said a word. When he spoke, his expression was serious.

"What is the matter with Margaret?" He asked, his tone making it clear that he was neither impressed by her absenting herself from the banquet nor interested in knowing the true reasons behind her actions. She had disrespected him and disrespected Anne and that was all he cared about. "She did not come to congratulate me, or to pay her respects to the Princess Consort – we will expect her to rectify that, and in the very near future." He added pointedly.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Brandon responded obediently, although he was sure that Henry knew as well as he did that it would be far from easy to persuade Margaret to feign respect and deference to Anne. If she could manage to be civil and to refrain from insulting her new sister-in-law outright, it would be about as much as they could reasonably hope for from her.

"Good." Glancing around to make sure that nobody was close enough to be able to overhear them, Henry lowered his voice, looking far more nervous than Brandon had ever seen him before. "There's something else that I want... that I need to ask you about... a personal matter."

"I hope that Your Majesty knows that you can trust me with your confidences, whatever they are."

"I do, I do." Henry assured him, glancing around a second time. His voice was so soft that Brandon had to strain to hear him. "You've been with many women before, as have I, of course... but tonight... it will be different..."

Not sure where Henry was going with this, Brandon deemed it best to say nothing, so he simply nodded comprehension and let his friend continue to say his piece.

"Have you ever... have you ever been with a virgin?" Henry blurted the question. "Is there something special that a man has to do, a special way to behave..." Now that he had actually voiced the question, he felt mortified that he had brought up the subject and a large part of him would have given anything to be able to unspeak the words or, failing that, to drop the subject and command Brandon never to mention it again but it was something that had weighed on him since the day he laid claim to Anne's maidenhead, pledging to honour it until they were married. He had never been with a virgin before – despite Katherine's claims to the contrary, he knew that her marriage with Arthur really had been consummated – and he hated the idea that, in his passion, more fervent than ever thanks to their long wait, he might hurt or frighten Anne.

Brandon was stumped for a moment, unsure what to say; despite the fact that he had been forgiven for marrying Margaret without Henry's permission, he certainly could not admit to the fact that they had copulated before their marriage and before her marriage to the King of Portugal, something Henry would object to even more than he did to their marriage, especially since it would mean that Brandon had allowed the ceremony with the King of Portugal to proceed, even when he knew that Margaret might have become pregnant with his child, a child who would be believed to be her husband's. As a King, Henry would never condone a bastard being placed in another royal nursery, even if that bastard was his own sister's child, and he would be furious with them both if he knew that they had taken that risk.

For a moment, he wondered whether or not Anne truly was a virgin, as she claimed and as Henry believed. Her sister's reputation was well known, she had distinguished herself by being the mistress of not one but two Kings and while a husband had been found for Mary Boleyn, it was whispered that she still continued to take lovers. Could Anne really be so different from her sister?

Even if she wasn't, he knew better than to suggest such a thing to the clearly besotted Henry.

"Just be gentle." He said at last, unable to think of anything else to say. "It'll be fine, I'm sure it will."

Henry nodded, masking his uncertainty with the most confident smile that he could muster. He clapped his friend on the back. "Thank you, Charles." He said quietly. "I know it will."

* * *

Katherine had been on her knees in the chapel since early in the morning.

Although she knew that Henry was going to go through with this farce of a marriage with Anne, she had to cling to the slight hope that until the ceremony itself was concluded, there was still a chance, however slim, that Henry would change his mind, that God would intercede on her behalf and help Henry see the error of his ways in time to cancel the ceremony, that He would help Henry see that it was His will that he should abandon the idea of marrying Anne in the hopes of fathering a son and accept that Mary should be his heiress.

She spent hours praying, the beads of her rosary passing through her fingers as she recited the familiar, comforting prayers to God and to the Virgin Mary, appealing for their intercession, and even after she knew that it was too late, that the ceremony would have taken place and that the celebrations in its honour had begun, she kept praying.

She wasn't even sure what it was she was praying for anymore.

Her husband was married to Anne now.

Katherine was officially one of two wives.

Mary's chances of becoming Queen had just declined to little better than none.

She could not imagine what God had planned for them, all she could do was hope that He had a plan.

"Mama?" Mary's soft voice spoke up behind her and Katherine turned to look at her daughter, forcing herself to smile warmly and confidently for her child's sake as she rose from her knees and moved to fold Mary into her embrace, knowing without asking that she would need the comfort of her hugs and of her consoling words that somehow, everything was going to work out for the best.

Truthfully, Katherine needed that comfort too.

"It's done. Father has married that woman." Mary announced without preamble, her dark eyes glittering with anger and her hands clenched into tight fists at her side. "I prayed for God to show him that he was making a mistake but He didn't. Why wouldn't He show Father that he shouldn't have done this thing, before it was done and it was too late to do anything about it?"

"It's not for us to question God's will, sweetheart." Katherine told her firmly, smiling slightly to soften the words. She could understand Mary's frustration and she too had wondered why God had not interceded for them, just as she wondered why He had not given her the son who would have ensured that her husband would never have considered discarding her in favour of another woman, much less taken the drastic step of marrying a second wife, but to question God's will was to take a dangerous step in the direction of heresy, down the path of Lutheranism. "We just have to make the best we can of this."

"How?" Mary demanded, feeling angry with her mother for an instant for her resignation. Between her nephew, the Emperor, and the common people, who loved her mother just as they loved Mary and who were the stuff that armies were made of, she could have stopped this happening if she had appealed to the Emperor or incited the people to rise up and put pressure on her father to keep him from marrying another woman, making it clear to him that they would never accept Anne as his wife or her children as legitimate heirs, but she had not. She would not go against her husband or her King in any matter not touching her conscience and she would never incite his own people to rise against him, not under any circumstances. As well as that, since the pope had given permission for her father to take a second wife, her mother would not dispute that it was his right to do so if he wished.

"We're going to have to find a way to live with this, and to accept Lady Anne... the Princess Consort's place in your father's life... in all our lives." Katherine corrected herself. For better or worse, Anne was now a part of Henry's life and by extension, her life and Mary's. As strange as it seemed, they were a family of sorts now and there could be no ignoring that fact.

Anne was here to stay.

She reached out to brush a strand of Mary's long hair back into her pearl encrusted hood. In honour of the wedding, Henry had seen to it that Mary was suitably outfitted in a lavish gown, worthy of a princess, and she looked very adult in it and very pretty. She had celebrated her eleventh birthday just a couple of weeks ago and, had her betrothal with Charles not been broken, she would be a year away from her wedding day.

Although she was disappointed that her nephew and her daughter would not be married, as she would have liked to deepen the ties between the country of her birth and the country that she had adopted as her home and that had welcomed her so warmly, its people taking her into their hearts, and although she was disappointed that Henry seemed to be so enraptured with Anne that he had forgotten about the issue of their child's marriage and future, she was far from sorry that she would be able to keep Mary with her longer than she had expected to.

"You look so lovely," she murmured softly.

"Father made me attend to her today." Mary said sullenly, indignant at the memory of what she had been made to do – she, the Princess of England, the girl who should still have been the Princess of Wales if she had her rights, forced to carry the train of an upstart born a knight's daughter, just because that upstart had managed to bewitch her father, tricking him into going to such drastic lengths just to possess her.

She just hoped that she would be there to see it when her father realized what a mistake he had made when he fell in love with Lady Anne and when he realized how unworthy of him she truly was.

"He told me that he was planning on doing that," Katherine admitted regretfully. She had asked Henry to reconsider – pleaded with him – but he had insisted on it, determined to use their daughter to help bolster his beloved's status and nothing she said had been able to dissuade him. when she continued to argue, he threatened that he would make Mary one of Anne's attendants on a permanent basis, a threat that she could not be certain he would not carry out.

"It's not right!" Mary insisted. "She should still be one of your ladies, no more important than any of the others."

"But she's not." Katherine reminded her. "And, sweetheart, it is very important that you treat her with respect and courtesy at all times, do you understand me? It's what your father would want you to do and it is what he expects you to do." And if Anne ever decided that she had cause to complain about the way Mary behaved towards her, Henry would be more than willing to banish their child from the court, taking Anne's part over that of his own daughter and sending Mary to a distant manor, perhaps forbidding Katherine to visit her again. "You must promise me that you will do your best to get along with her, for my sake and for yours."

"Or Father will be angry." Mary commented bitterly, furious at both her father, who might be willing to set his concubine ahead of his daughter, and at Anne for having the power to turn him against her.

"Yes." Katherine said honestly. Much as she would have liked to be able to shield her child from everything that was happening in these dark days, she knew that it would not be possible. Mary was too intelligent a child for her mother or her governess to be able to fob her off with empty reassurances that everything would turn out for the best.

The world in which she had grown up, in which they had lived happily for many years, was changing and Katherine could neither keep it from changing or keep Mary's life from being impacted by those changes.

As she had told Mary, they were going to have to find a way to deal with Anne, and with the other changes wrought on their lives.

"What will happen if that woman has a son?" Mary asked quietly, voicing the thought that was preying on both their minds.

"If God decides to bless the Princess Consort with a son, then we must assume that He will have His reasons for doing so." Katherine's voice was steady, masking the heartbreak that the thought gave her. She had known since her childhood that it was her destiny to be the Queen of England and the mother of the heir, now it seemed all but guaranteed that another woman would bear the son who should have been hers. "And then one day, her son will be King."

* * *

Dressed in his finest vestments, Wolsey stood at the foot of the bed, which had been made up with the finest white silk sheets with dried rose petals scattered over it. He sprinkled it with holy water while he said prayers to bless it and to ask God to allow a son to be born from this union, the son that all of England needed.

The prayers were heartfelt; not only did Wolsey care for Henry, who had been almost a son to him over the years in which they had worked together, and wish for him to obtain his heart's desire and enjoy the happiness that would follow, he was also well aware of the fact that the Tudor dynasty was a young and fragile one, only two generations old and beset with pretenders on all side. As he had told the bishops when they convened to decide on the King's Great Matter, English history was littered with the tragedies that had inevitably followed when a monarch sought to pass his throne on to his daughter.

If Henry were to die, leaving Princess Mary as his only heir, then pretenders would hurry to claim the throne in her stead before Henry's body was cold, with every rich, powerful nobleman with a strain of Plantagenet blood fancying himself as the next King and civil war was all but inevitable. Despite the efforts of Henry's father, together with Wolsey's own efforts, there were more than a few noblemen in England with the resources to call upon their own private armies, men who might seek the throne for themselves or support another would-be claimant, and even the Emperor Charles would not be able to guarantee his young cousin's claim to the throne.

The country would be all but torn apart by warring claimants.

If that was to be avoided, Henry needed to father a legitimate son.

There was no other way.

Henry and Anne stood on either side of the bed, each clad in nightgowns and richly embroidered robes, listening in silence, their heads bowed, as Wolsey finished the ritual blessing.

When Princess Margaret married the King of Portugal, all the nobles of the Portuguese court were present in the bedchamber to watch the royal couple being put to bed and they had remained in the room while the marriage was consummated, with only the curtains of the bed pulled shut to provide them with a slight measure of privacy.

While it would not be taken nearly so far in this case – the tradition of having witnesses present for the consummation of the King's marriage had thankfully been abolished by Henry's father, who had refused to allow so private a moment to become a matter of public scrutiny – several prominent courtiers, including Henry's sister and brother-in-law, and Anne's father, uncle and siblings were all present to watch the cardinal bless the bed and, when the blessing was concluded, one of Anne's ladies-in-waiting and one of Henry's grooms stepped forward to fold back the bedclothes, then another groom moved to help Henry out of his robe, leaving him standing in his nightshirt while Mary Boleyn did the same for her sister.

Once this was done, the couple climbed into the bed, sitting up against the pillows while two of their attendants tucked the covers around them and then, after a final blessing from Wolsey, the courtiers, having fulfilled their duty by witnessing the couple being put into the bed together, made their bows and curtseys before leaving the room, leaving Henry and Anne alone, at last.

Neither of them said a word for a few minutes after the room was emptied, both feeling a little nervous around one another now that the moment had finally arrived. Under other circumstances, it would be different but the knowledge that there were hundreds of people in the palace, all of them knowing exactly what was happening in this bedchamber, did not help them feel more comfortable.

"At least we don't have to have them in the room with us," Henry joked in a low voice, wanting to ease the tension and to put Anne at her ease. She smiled in response to the joke, moving closer to him and he put his arm around her. "I love you." He said quietly. "I always will, I promise you that."

"And I love you." She responded, cupping his chin in her hand and drawing his face towards hers for a kiss.

This was their time, their moment, one for which they had already waited too long.

They would wait no longer...

* * *

**_2nd March 1529_ **

The celebrations in honour of the wedding had lasted for hours after the King and the Princess Consort retired to their bed, and while the ladies were obliged by convention to retire before the festivities became too rowdy, many of the male courtiers, particularly the younger, wilder ones had stayed up for the entire night, drinking and feasting and gambling fortunes on the turn of a card.

By the time the sun rose, they were tired and bleary eyed and just about all of them wanted nothing more than to fall into bed but the ritual was not over, at least for some of them, Charles Brandon amongst them.

As the King's closest friend and one of the highest-ranking peers in England, it was his duty to be one of those who attended the King on the morning after his wedding night so he, together with Anthony Knivert and two grooms, made his stumbling way through the corridors to the Princess Consort's quarters, so that they could help Henry wash and dress.

Anne was not present when they arrived – it would not have been fitting for her to allow any man apart from her husband to see her in a state of undress or even for her to be present while Henry's attendants saw to his needs – but Brandon could hear her voice, along with other female voices behind the closed door of the inner chamber set aside as her dressing room and he knew that she too would have her own ladies, probably including her sister, in there with her to help her dress.

At least she had known better than to invite her new sister-in-law to be one of the ladies helping her. He could imagine how Margaret would have reacted to such an invitation.

Henry was clearly in excellent spirits when they arrived, his smile wide as he called for wine and refreshments, humming snatches of a tune under his breath as they helped him with his morning ablutions.

Behind them, two maidservants were stripping the bed, bundling the fine silk sheets up to be laundered and scattering dried petals on the floor as they worked.

Seeing this, Henry raised a hand to halt them. "Wait!" He commanded imperiously, before they could strip the bed of the bottom sheet, the one on which he and Anne had been lying an hour ago, and carry it away to be washed. There was a scarlet smear of blood at the centre of the sheet and he touched it with awed fingers, the expression on his face reminiscent of a pilgrim's face when they beheld a sacred relic. "This is not to be washed." He commanded, not wanting the proof of Anne's virginity when they were wed to be destroyed. "Now, or ever. Fold it up, and store it in a chest, then lock the chest and bring me the key."

"Yes, Your Majesty." One of the servants responded obediently, bobbing a curtsey.

Henry did not like to remember his marriage with Katherine or the wedding night that had followed but he could remember the boy he had been back then being so excited to be properly married to the lovely Spanish princess, the bride he had once envied Arthur, that he had not thought to look at the sheets on the bed the next morning, much less ensured that they were properly stored; nobody had mentioned the matter to him before he and Katherine were put to bed together, according to the prescribed ritual, and it was an omission that he had cause to bitterly regret when he came to realize the truth about his marriage.

If he had looked at the sheets and, better still, if he had thought to see to it that they were carefully stowed away, he would have had the proof he needed that Katherine was no virgin when she came to his bed, as she had claimed to be and as he had once believed her to be. He would have had proof that her marriage to Arthur was consummated and that his own union with her was therefore invalid, proof that could have been of incalculable value when he petitioned the pope for an annulment of their marriage.

Not even the Emperor could have complained about his aunt being set aside if he knew that she had been lying about her virginity all these years.

Katherine must have been so relieved when he did not realize that he should examine the sheets, knowing that it would ensure that her secret remained her own and that even if Henry came to suspect that she had not been a virgin on their first night together, he would never be able to prove that she was not or even to know for certain, one way or the other.

The servants who had laundered the sheets the next day must have been laughing amongst themselves at the idea that their King had been duped by his new wife.

The thought infuriated him.

Katherine had humiliated him but at least he had the proof here that Anne was honest with him, that she had come to him as a virgin, saving her maidenhead until the night when it would be given to her husband, as was right and proper.

At least he could trust Anne.


	6. Chapter Five

**_18th March 1529_ **

Anne's rooms were a hive of activity, with seamstresses measuring her ladies and consulting with her regarding the designs for the costumes they were to wear for the masquerade she was staging.

Jean de Bellay, the Bishop of Bayenne and the French ambassador, was coming to England and when Anne wanted to have a celebration in honour of his arrival, Henry had agreed immediately, promising that every poet and musician at court would be at her disposal if she needed them to help her stage it and eagerly accepting her invitation to take the chief male role in the masquerade. She was determined that this celebration – the arrival of the first ambassador who would greet her as Henry's wife and consort – would outdo the tableau that had been staged for the Imperial envoys, Mendoza and Chapuys, in every way.

It was amusing to think that it had been at an entertainment staged in honour of envoys from Katherine's country, coming to arrange a treaty between Henry and her nephew, that Anne had first caught Henry's eye, leading her to her present situation, as wife to the King.

Although she took no small amount of satisfaction in the thought that it would not be long before the Emperor sent his own envoys and that they would have to greet her formally as the Princess Consort, obliged to treat her with the same deference that they always showed Katherine, whether they liked it or not, it was still disappointing to think that neither they nor anyone else would greet her as Queen, not as long as Katherine was alive. It was also far from pleasant to think that, while they would be able to avoid it _this_ time as she and Henry were both to perform in the masquerade and would therefore not be making a formal entrance beforehand, that would not be the case next time. Next time, and on every other formal occasion after that, Katherine would have to be escorted into the Hall on Henry's arm and sit by his side at meals while Anne was escorted on his other arm and sat on his other side.

The only thing separating the two women would be the husband they shared.

It was a bizarre, uncomfortable thought.

Katherine could have made things so much simpler and so much easier for all concerned if she hadn't insisted on being so obstinate, Anne thought resentfully. Everybody knew that it was far from unheard of for a Queen who had failed in her duty to supply her King with a male heir to be encouraged or even forced to step aside, either to join a religious order or for her marriage to be annulled on some pretext or another – and Henry certainly had far more reasonable grounds for an annulment than most Kings who set their wives aside did – so that another woman could fill the vacated place and succeed where she had failed.

Instead, she had stubbornly refused to see reason, preferring to keep Henry tied to her against his will, even when it meant that she was keeping him from fathering a legitimate son who could succeed his father as King, ensuring England's future stability and keeping the country safe from the threat of civil war. Katherine's mother may have been able to rule Castile in her own right but England had never had a ruling Queen before and Anne had her doubts about whether it was ready for one now. Men like her father and her uncle certainly would not want to have to swear fealty to a female sovereign. If Princess Mary remained her father's only heiress, then there would be others with royal blood flowing in their veins, like the late Duke of Buckingham, men who would be all too eager to seize the throne from her before Henry's body was cold and even if she did manage to hold the country, the foreign monarch or heir she married would become de facto King, and England would be the dowry Mary brought her new husband, becoming a province of France or Spain within a generation.

Katherine was surely well aware of this but she _still_ refused to yield, unable to bear the thought that another woman's son would become heir to the throne ahead of her daughter, regardless of the consequences for the Tudor dynasty and for England itself.

Perhaps it was even what she wanted; it was well known that she had championed a match between her nephew and her daughter, even though the Emperor was so much older than Princess Mary. Perhaps she had wanted to see England brought under Spanish rule. Perhaps, despite being Queen of England for so long, she remained a Princess of Spain in her heart, more concerned with the interests of the country of her birth than those of her new country, regardless of her claims of loyalty.

Any other woman would have seen reason and chosen to step back, knowing that nobody would ever fault her for her decision, knowing that she was likely to be admired for having the sense and the courage to step back for the good of the country and knowing that Henry would make sure that she was amply provided for and treated with all honour as his brother's widow, the Princess Dowager of Wales, but Katherine had not been willing to see the truth of the matter.

England needed an heir.

Henry wanted to marry Anne.

It should have been simple and straightforward, with Wolsey persuading the other bishops of the invalidity of the marriage and, as papal legate, declaring it dissolved, presenting the pope with an accomplished fact, one against which he was unlikely to argue.

While she did not doubt that Wolsey would have wanted to see Henry's marriage to Katherine dissolved, at least at first, in the hopes that once he was free to marry again, Henry would preferably take a French princess as his second wife and sire a nurseryful of sons with her, Anne suspected that the cardinal's enthusiasm for the annulment had quickly faded when he realized exactly who Henry had in mind as his future bride and the future Queen of England and that he had worried about what it would mean for him if Anne Boleyn sat on the throne.

His concerns were not unjustified, Anne acknowledged honestly. Her father and her uncle never made any secret of the fact that they hated Wolsey, despising his arrogance and resenting his wealth and his influence with the King, or that they wanted to bring him down, by any means necessary. Anne was originally intended only to be the weapon they used against the cardinal, with both her father and her uncle hoping that as Henry's mistress, she would be able to influence him against his favoured friend and advisor, convincing him that Wolsey was far from worthy of the trust Henry placed in him, but when they were faced with the prospect of Henry setting Katherine aside and marrying Anne, a prospect they had never anticipated as being remotely possible when they first decided to use her to strike against the cardinal, the stakes became much higher and even the need to bring Wolsey down had had to take second place to raising Anne to the throne.

As papal legate, Wolsey's help would be essential to secure the sought-after annulment and his destruction would have to be postponed until he had delivered it.

If Wolsey _had_ helped ensure that Henry would not be able to obtain his annulment, either by deliberately bodging the task he had been entrusted with or by not fighting as long or as hard as he could, persuading Henry that there was no hope and that accepting the pope's compromise was his only viable option when there might still have been a chance of a more satisfactory conclusion, then he was a fool!

While it was undeniable that Anne's family would have benefited if she became Queen and while that would very likely mean that Wolsey's influence with the King would diminished considerably, if he had succeeded in giving Henry what he wanted, then Henry would be grateful to him and would always count him as a friend. He might lose some of the power he cherished but he would be safe. It would also have given Anne cause to be grateful to him and, even if family duty obliged her to promote her relatives ahead of the cardinal, she would have had no interest in seeing a man who had helped to put her in the highest place in the land humbled and brought as low as her father and uncle intended. They wanted to destroy him entirely. She might not have been a friend to Wolsey but she would not have been his enemy either.

The cardinal had been gracious and kind to her since he first learned that Henry intended to marry her, going out of his way to ingratiate himself with her and to show her the he was her friend and not her enemy but Anne had little faith in the sincerity of his overtures – although she had sent him a friendly letter when she learned that he, like her, had been stricken with the sweating sickness and survived, her true feelings towards Wolsey were nowhere near as warm as the sentiments she had expressed in her letter and she had no reason to believe that his overtures of friendship were any sincerer than hers.

They might share their sympathies towards France, she because of her happy memories of her time at the French court and her gratitude for the education she had obtained there and he because of the very generous pension they paid him, and it was true that neither of them had any reason to favour Imperial interests but while they might be able to find common ground in that respect, Anne could not forget that Wolsey was a cardinal and papal legate, the man who acted as England's representative to Rome, the man who tied him to the corruption of the papacy.

If England was to be freed from papal thraldom, then the diminishing of Wolsey's influence was an essential first step but not, however, one that needed to be taken immediately.

In the coming months, they would have need of Wolsey's diplomacy and keen intelligence. Their current situation was without precedent and it would be men like Wolsey who would be able to help to straighten out the issues involved and to ensure that Anne's position and that of her children would be secure, beyond questioning.

As well as that, she knew that Henry's faith was strong. He was not happy with the pope at present but her instincts told her that it was not yet the time for her to introduce him to the Lutheran books she kept hidden in her quarters. They were forbidden and it was a crime for her to possess them. She knew that even if they were discovered today, she would never be punished or even chided for having them in her possession but, at the same time, she did not want to take the risk of showing her hand too soon, as there was a chance that Henry would object to knowing that his wife was reading such books and insist that she got rid of them, for the sake of her own soul. She would have to wait, choosing her time carefully and making sure that before she broached the subject, Henry was in a frame of mind where he would be ready to listen to what she had to say and to be open to new ideas when they were presented to him.

He knew that she possessed a copy of Tyndale's English Bible – she certainly made no attempt to hide it; it held pride of place on a stand in the main room of her suite – and had made no objection to that. He had even expressed an interest in reading it himself. That was enough to go on for the moment. She had plenty of time to encourage him further.

"Anne… I mean, Your Majesty?" Her sister's voice intruded on her thoughts and when she turned to look at Mary, she could see the concern in her expression. "You looked so far away just now." Mary said with a smile.

"Did I?"

"You did." Mary confirmed, holding out a bolt of fine white silk for Anne's inspection. "I'm sorry to interrupt but Mistress Burnett wants to know if this is acceptable for your costume. She's also got white taffeta or satin if you prefer," she added, "and she wants to know if you'd like any embroidery or lace on it."

"No." Anne shook her head decisively. "Just the gold ribbon at the waist." Although some of the costumes she had helped to design for the other players who would be involved in the masquerade were very elaborate, her own costume – for her role of damsel in distress to Henry's rescuing knight – was very simple; a white gown with straight lines and almost no adornment whatsoever. Several of her ladies and seamstresses were rather aghast at the plainness of the design, urging her to consider allowing the gown to be embellished with embroidery to add a splash of colour to it, but she had staunchly refused to consider it.

After the masquerade, she could change into one of her more elaborate gowns, adorning herself with jewellery so that she could be royally attired when she was formally presented to the ambassador but for the masquerade itself, simplicity would be far more effective than the most ornate costume her seamstresses' clever fingers could create.

"Whatever you want." Mary agreed. "Shall I tell Mistress Burnett that you want the silk?"

"Please." Anne nodded. "Have you been measured for your costume?"

"Yes." Mary confirmed. "I think everybody has by now, and they'll get to work on them straight away. Everything should be ready for the masquerade."

"Good." Anne nodded, smiling at her sister.

She was well aware of the fact that her decision to appoint Mary, who was widowed when the sweating sickness carried off William Carey, as her chief lady-in-waiting had provoked surprise and attracted no small amount of disapproval – even the fact that Mary was her sister and that her marriage to Carey had rendered her outwardly respectable did not outweigh the fact that she had been the mistress of two Kings, including the one who was now her brother-in-law, in the eyes of some of the courtiers, who felt that such a post would be better suited to a lady of higher standing, longer years and spotless reputation – but Anne had never had any intention of giving the position to anybody else, refusing all of the other suggested candidates.

Not only did she want to make sure that her chief lady-in-waiting was somebody she could like and trust, somebody she could be certain wouldn't secretly be one of Katherine's sympathizers, all but guaranteed to run to her with every piece of news she could pick up about Anne, keeping her eyes and ears open for anything that might compromise her and therefore strengthen Katherine's position, she also wanted to make certain that it could never be alleged that her ladies were of loose morals or that her household was licentious, governed with less care than Katherine's. Given her reputation, Mary might seem like an odd choice to achieve that aim but Anne considered her sister the best choice possible, as she would know better than anybody what signs she should keep her eyes open for, so that she would be able to nip any problems in the bud before they could cause a scandal.

Even her father had agreed when he quizzed her on her choice and she explained her reasoning. He smiled wryly as he noted that a poacher turned gamekeeper was usually the best person to protect the game on an estate.

He and her uncle had chosen many of her ladies, selecting relatives, like her cousin Madge Shelton, and the daughters and sisters of men of whose loyalty and support they were confident and who were eager to obtain places for their female relatives at court, even if there were no places left in Katherine's household – although Mary had assured her that even if her ladies' families were disappointed that they would be serving the Princess Consort rather than the Queen, the ladies themselves were quite happy with the current state of affairs, preferring service in Anne's household, where they could enjoy music, dancing, masquerades and even flirt discreetly with the young gentlemen of the court, who often stopped by to pay their respects to Anne and who stayed to chat with her ladies, to serving Katherine, whose ladies were reputed to have to spend their days dividing their time between accompanying their mistress to Mass and stitching at garments for the poor until their fingers bled, shut away from the company of the men at court, potential husbands, as though they were in a nunnery rather than at court.

Anne, like anybody else who had acted as one of Katherine's ladies, knew that this was an exaggeration but among new arrivals at court, the stories were taken at face value.

In any case, even among those who knew that they were not true, Anne's household was the preferred option because Anne herself was in favour with the King; as Henry wanted her by his side as much as possible, her ladies were allowed to accompany her to feasts, out riding and to impromptu picnics by the lake, while members of Katherine's household were obliged to remain with their mistress, who seemed to have scarcely stirred from her quarters since the wedding, shutting herself away with her daughter and with the few ladies she was close to.

Thinking of her young stepdaughter reminded Anne of something else she had planned and she crossed over to her writing desk, taking a sheet of parchment and penning a short note, signing her name with a flourish and sealing the note with the crest designed for her before beckoning to her sister, handing the note to her.

"Have somebody deliver this to Katherine."

"What is it?" Mary asked, her relationship with Anne giving her the freedom to voice her curiousity instead of silently accepting her task, as any other lady would be obliged to and she was definitely curious about this. To the best of her knowledge, Anne had never sent Katherine a message of any kind, and vice versa. Since the wedding, Queen and Princess Consort had kept their distance from one another and even the ladies of their respective households shunned their counterparts.

Why this sudden change?

"It's an invitation for Princess Mary to join in the masquerade, if she wishes." Anne explained. "She is betrothed to King Francis' second son, after all, so perhaps she would like to dance for his ambassador, so that he can give Francis a favourable report of his son's fiancée – and since she is still a child, the invitation should go through her mother." She added, knowing that half the people at court were probably waiting for her to make a mistake so that they could pounce on it and point to it as evidence that she was unfit for the role of royal consort. She was determined to confound them by making sure that, whatever her dealings with her stepdaughter or with Katherine, nobody would be able to claim that her conduct was lacking.

"Oh." Mary turned the note over in her hand, trying to decide how best to phrase what she had to say so that her sister would not take offence or think that she was being criticized. "Including Princess Mary is a sweet thought, Anne," she began gently, "but I don't think that she'll want to take part, even if the Queen agrees." The young princess' loyalty to her mother was well-known and Mary was afraid that the girl was more likely to take Anne's invitation as an insult rather than as an overture of friendship, offended that the woman she saw as usurping her father's love for her mother was presuming to offer her favours.

"Probably not." Anne agreed with a shrug. "But that doesn't mean that I can't invite her. It's up to her whether she accepts the invitation or not."

* * *

Madge Shelton had never visited the Queen's rooms, nor did any of the other ladies who attended Anne.

It was not that contact between members of both households were forbidden, nobody had even suggested that they were or that they should be but even so, Madge felt as though she ought to keep her distance from Queen Katherine and from the ladies who attended to her, as though it would be a betrayal of her cousin to do otherwise.

She did not even know the way to the Queen's rooms and a page had to be summoned to escort her there. Although the Princess Consort's suite of rooms adjoined the King's, connected by a private gallery, the Queen's rooms were much further away, which seemed very odd. While it was well known that the King had not visited the Queen's bed in years, even before he sought to annul their marriage, and while it made sense that he would want his rooms to be separate from hers once he began to take mistresses, the Queen had occupied the same apartment since they were married, all those years ago, at a time when they were said to have been very much in love. Madge would have thought that the King would have wanted to keep the Queen closer to him back then but it seemed that this was not the case.

Had the marriage been annulled and her cousin made Queen rather than Princess Consort, then Anne would have occupied the Queen's rooms, far away from the King but, under the circumstances, they had been able to create their own set of rules and he had wanted her close to him.

The page knocked on the door and a few moments later, one of Katherine's ladies opened it, her eyes narrowing slightly when she saw Madge, recognizing from the gown she wore that she was one of Anne's ladies. She was clearly no happier to have a visitor from the rival court than Madge was to be walking into the enemy camp.

"I've come with a message for the Queen." Madge explained, showing the sealed note as evidence of her claim. "From Her Majesty the Princess Consort." She elaborated unnecessarily, drawing herself up to her full height and refusing to allow herself to be intimidated. Her cousin was just as much the King's wife as Queen Katherine was, after all, and she was proud to be a member of her household.

"I see." The other lady responded coolly. "And you are?"

"Lady Margaret Shelton." Madge responded, giving her rarely used full name.

The other lady nodded, stepping back to allow her to enter the room. "This way."

The Queen was sitting in a chair near the fire, stitching a fine linen shirt and listening while Princess Mary read aloud from a Latin book. At first glance, her gown appeared plain, almost dowdy compared with the exquisite French gowns and dazzling jewels that Anne wore but, when Madge came closer, curtseying deeply to the Queen and to the young princess, she saw that the dark gown was made of silk and that it was richly embroidered, trimmed with costly laces. As Madge rose from her curtsey, she saw Princess Margaret, the King's sister, out of the corner of her eye so she curtsied again in her direction, carefully making sure that the second curtsey was not as deep as the first.

Although the other ladies seemed hostile, the Queen gave her a small, kind smile, as though she could sense how uncomfortable it was for Madge to be here. She glanced up at her lady, who supplied the name of her visitor.

"Lady Margaret Shelton, Your Majesty, with a message from the Princess Consort."

Princess Margaret did not trouble to hide her derisive snort but if Queen Katherine was surprised by this – and Madge was sure that she must be – hid it well, accepting the proffered note and breaking the seal, reading the short message in silence before looking down at her daughter with a faint smile.

"The Princess Consort has invited you to be one of the dancers in her masquerade for the French ambassador," she told Princess Mary in a pleasant tone, before returning her attention to Madge. "Please thank her for her kind invitation, Lady Shelton." she said, the faint but definite note of dismissal in her voice telling Madge that she was to be spared the discomfort of having to wait in the Queen's apartments while a decision was made and a reply was drafted. "I will discuss this with Princess Mary," she laid a gentle hand on her daughter's arm at this, forestalling anything the young girl might have said, "and send a response through one of my own ladies."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Madge curtsied again, feeling relieved when the Queen nodded permission for her to return to Anne's rooms, eager to get out of there.

"I'll say this for her, the slut has courage." Margaret remarked caustically.

Katherine frowned, waving a hand to dismiss her ladies, not wanting them to be present if her sister-in-law was going to be speaking against Anne, just in case one of them might be in the employ of Wolsey or, worse still, Wiltshire, Norfolk or Anne herself, any one of whom would be only too pleased to be able to run to Henry bearing tales about the way his adored darling was being spoken of by his own sister, and in Katherine's presence, no less.

"You should not say such things about her, Margaret." She said quietly. "The Princess Consort is Henry's wife."

"Putting a ring on her finger and making up a royal title for her doesn't change the fact that she's a whore," Margaret maintained obstinately, pouring herself a goblet of wine – and not for the first time this morning, Katherine noted – and draining it, the wine loosening her tongue and robbing her of discretion.

"It makes her his wife, just as I am." Katherine reminded her, barely managing to hide the pain that this statement caused her. Anne was Henry's wife in the eyes of the pope and therefore the eyes of God. Katherine's faith would not allow her to deny that fact or to allow another to do so without correcting them but, even so, it hurt her to have to say this aloud.

She briefly wondered whether or not Anne did the same for her if somebody insisted that she, as the widow of Henry's brother, was not truly his wife but even if she didn't correct them, even if she openly encouraged them to say such things, it would not absolve Katherine of her responsibility to speak up on her behalf. In any case, it was very likely that Henry was the one who claimed that his marriage to her was invalid and Anne was hardly going to contradict him. Few people would.

"I don't want to dance in her stupid masquerade." Mary spoke up, scowling at the note in her mother's hand, furious with Anne for issuing the invitation. She was just flaunting the fact that she and her ladies were the ones staging the entertainment while her mother's ladies were left out of the excitement, she thought bitterly. If Anne thought that she was a silly little girl, able to be won over by the promise of a treat, then she would soon learn that she was mistaken.

"Are you sure, my darling?" Katherine asked gently. "It sounds as though it could be a lot of fun – and if you want to take part, I won't mind." She added, thinking that Mary might be refusing out of loyalty to her. "I'd like to see you dance, and I'm sure that your father would too." She added persuasively. Henry had been quite distant from their daughter recently, too caught up with Anne to have much time for anybody else, including their child, but perhaps if he could see that Mary shared an interest in dancing and music, he would be proud of her and inclined to pay more attention to her.

"I'm sure." Mary insisted stubbornly. "I won't do it."

"Is she planning on performing in this thing herself?" Margaret asked.

"I don't know. I imagine so." Katherine responded neutrally, wisely ignoring Margaret's scornful look in response to this information.

While it was more usual for such activities to be left to the young maidens of the court, it was not unheard of for a married woman to perform in a masquerade on occasion and nobody thought any less of them for it but, even so, Katherine would never have dreamed of performing in a masquerade after her marriage to Henry and her coronation as Queen, she was content to simply be a spectator, applauding his efforts and feigning surprise when he unmasked and revealed his identity. Before that, she had been briefly married to Arthur and, after his death, relegated to the role of Princess Dowager, a childless royal widow and an unwelcome guest at the court of King Henry the Seventh, fortunate if she was invited to watch the pageants that were occasionally staged. Performing in them was out of the question.

For a moment, she wondered if things might have been different if she had shared Henry's love of theatrics, a trait that Anne plainly shared with him, but she stamped down on that thought. What Henry had wanted from her was the thing she had never been able to give him, despite her fervent prayers; a son and heir. Had she given him that, he would never have dreamed of humiliating her by taking a second wife, even if she shared none of his tastes… and if Anne failed to give him one, it wouldn't matter how much she and Henry had in common, he would eventually lose patience and tire of her too.

Would she and Anne then find themselves sharing Henry with a _third_ wife? Or would he simply seek to get rid of them both and start again with a new marriage?

Neither alternative was a pleasant one.

"Are you _certain_ that you don't want to reconsider?" She asked Mary, who shook her head decisively, determined not to budge from her stance on the matter. "Very well. I will send a message to the Princess Consort, declining the invitation on your behalf." She said, laying a gentle stress on Anne's title. She could understand it if Mary – and Margaret, for that matter – found it difficult to feel respect for Anne but it was still vital that they _show_ it, at least outwardly, or they could find themselves out of Henry's good graces, perhaps permanently. She was aware that Margaret had applied to Henry for permission to return to her own house in Suffolk but even when she cited her infant son as the reason for her desire to return home, Henry refused permission, angered by her continuing refusal to treat Anne with the respect he felt she was due and determined not to allow her to leave court until she gave in.

Henry certainly would not be the one to yield.

"How do you put up with that woman?" Margaret asked, watching her sister-in-law begin to pen a note to Anne, amazed by how calmly she seemed to take everything. Had she been in Katherine's shoes, had it been her husband who was given permission to take a second wife, she would have made sure that her rival knew that she was not a woman to be trifled with and that she was aware of what the consequences would be if she was foolish enough to try to challenge her. If Katherine was more like her, Anne wouldn't dare to set foot outside her apartment without her blessing, much less entertain ambassadors like a Queen and invite the King's daughter to take part in her masquerade, with the air of one bestowing a favour. "In your place, I'd have slapped her a long time ago, as hard as I could, and cured her of her arrogance."

"That would accomplish nothing," Katherine said calmly, "except to make Henry angry and to put myself in the wrong. I have to put up with her… just as she must put up with me." She added, thinking that Anne was probably just as disgruntled by the situation as she was. Henry had promised to make her his wife and Queen, after all, and Katherine doubted that she was pleased to have to share the first title and wait for the second. "We have no other choice."

* * *

**_26th March 1529_ **

Although Wolsey's innate diplomacy meant that he could negotiate with whomever he was called upon to negotiate with, treating each envoy and ambassador with the same courtesy and allowing them to believe that he was on their side, he certainly preferred to deal with the French rather than with the Spanish. The relationship between England and France may have been one of enmity in recent decades but he firmly believed that it was in the best interests of both countries if they put aside their personal differences, uniting against Spain. Neither country was strong enough to stand against the might of the Emperor alone but together they would be able to accomplish much more.

Personal ambition also played a part; as Lord Chancellor, Wolsey was the most powerful layman in England after the King but he could rise no higher in secular circles. In ecclesiastical circles, however, it was a different story. He was a cardinal and the papal legate in England. The papacy was the next step and, if he could have the backing of the English and French cardinals at the next election, whenever that might be, their combined votes would be enough to make him pope. Henry would certainly support him, for the prestige of having an English pope and in the hopes that as pope, Wolsey would be able to pronounce a verdict on his marriage to Katherine, dissolving it and confirming Anne as his sole wife, putting an end to the absurd situation where he had two wives.

Considering that Katherine had never been a friend to him and that she and her nephew had thwarted him more than once, Wolsey did not think that he would have the slightest qualm about pronouncing her marriage invalid, and the thought of her likely reaction when she learned that, despite the power of her nephew, the man she had once despised, believing him to be arrogant and whose lifestyle she had presumed to criticize, had the power to dissolve her marriage as though it had never been and to brand her beloved daughter a bastard.

The prospect was certainly tempting enough to make cultivating Anne worthwhile, in the hopes that her French sympathies, combined with his own, would urge Henry towards a lasting French alliance.

Most importantly of all, if he was pope, he would be safe.

It wouldn't matter if some of the decisions he made angered Henry, or if he wasn't able to deliver everything he wanted. Even the King of England would not be powerful enough to tear down the descendant of Saint Peter, God's representative on Earth.

With that thought in mind, he felt hopeful as he went to greet Ambassador de Bellay, a good humoured man who was more than willing to be amiable, feigning surprise when he was told that an entertainment was being staged in honour of his arrival and showing a hint of genuine surprise when he learned that both the King and the Princess Consort would both be dancing in the masquerade.

"I am honoured, Your Eminence," he said brightly, pleased by the novelty, allowing himself to be conducted into the Great Hall, where part of the room had been converted into a stage for the performance, with large screens in front of it to conceal the players from the rest of the room as they made their final preparations.

Queen Katherine was sitting on the dais set up for the royal family and for the most honoured guests; Wolsey and Bellay. Her smile was pleasant when Bellay approached, bowing deeply and kissing her hand, professing himself delighted to have met her at last but for Wolsey she only had a curt, aloof nod of greeting.

They had barely settled themselves into their seats when a signal from behind the screens prompted the musicians in the gallery to begin playing a new composition, which began as a light, cheerful piece but that quickly became dark and foreboding as Anne, lovely in her simple white gown with her hair down and secured with a ribbon, was snatched away from her companions by George Boleyn, in the midnight-blue robes of a dark sorcerer. He clearly relished his role as the villain of the piece, abducting Anne and prompting scattered gasps of astonishment from the watching courtiers as he half-dragged, half-carried her towards the 'castle', reciting spells as they went, conjuring a lake of fire provided by ladies in deep red and orange gowns dancing and waving streamers made of long strips of silk in the same colour as their gowns, before binding Anne to the wall of the castle with a heavy set of manacles, well-padded to ensure that they didn't cut into the soft skin of her wrists.

Wolsey had seen too many masquerades to be especially impressed by this one, even though it was plain that Anne had spared no expense or trouble when it came to staging it. However, he knew better than to let any hint of boredom show on his expression as he watched George Boleyn casting spells to guard against Anne's would-be rescuers and even he was surprised when the sound of hoof beats heralded the arrival of the brave knight and his squire.

Charles Brandon, pressed into the role of the bumbling squire, was the first to enter from the far door, prompting laughter with his buffoonery but the real astonishment was reserved for Henry, resplendent in a tunic made of silver cloth to simulate armour, who followed a few moments later.

Not content with arriving on foot, he had elected to have one of his horses brought into the palace and rode him into the Hall, in a move that astonished more than one of his fellow players, including a couple of the ladies who made up the lake of fire and even the damsel he intended to rescue. Her giggles were only stifled by a stern glare from the sorcerer.

Henry was clearly pleased with the attention as he gracefully leapt down from his horse, unsheathing his sword and calling out to the sorcerer to release his captive, promising to spare his life if he would do so.

Safe in his castle, protected by his lake of fire, the sorcerer was unimpressed by his threats and refused outright, calling on the knight to do his worst, a decision he soon regretted when the knight summoned a group of water nymphs, ladies clad in blue-green gowns who summarily defeated the ladies who formed the lake of fire, clearing the path for the knight.

However, the sorcerer still had one card left to play…

From behind the castle, the piece de resistance emerged; a dragon at least twenty feet long, with the feet of half a dozen courtiers visible beneath a costume that must have kept the seamstresses busy for the best part of a week, deep crimson silk, stitched in scales and gleaming here and there with cloth of gold. The face was even more elaborate, crafted by the best artists and craftsmen Anne could commission and it glowered at the audience, breathing fire before turning its attention to the unfortunate knight.

Even Princess Mary, who had had an angry scowl on her face until now, gasped in astonishment and delight at this.

Faced with such a fearsome dragon, nobody could blame a man for turning on his heel and running away – as the squire did, leading his master's horse away before it could become spooked by the sight of the dragon or by the excitement of the spectators – but the knight held his ground, using his sword to dispatch the dragon in short order before running towards the castle to finish off the sorcerer and rescue the damsel, to the cheers of those watching.

Katherine's smile was bittersweet as she watched Henry release Anne from her bindings, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her down from the castle so that they could finish the masque with a dance. Although he was almost a year past thirty, Henry still seemed to be a boy in many ways, not much different than he had been when she first met him, when she arrived in England as Arthur's bride. He was a child then, a second son who craved attention and approval, resenting the fact that it was to Arthur, his older brother, that eyes turned first. He was determined to do whatever he could to gain people's notice, which she believed to be part of the reason that he still enjoyed performing in these masquerades so much. However, while he had once been her Sir Loyal Heart, her champion performing his knightly duties in her name, he had now pledged himself to another woman.

In the eyes of the Church, the law, the people and God, she might still be his wife, even if that was a role she had to share, but in Henry's eyes, he had only one wife and it wasn't her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bellay nudge Wolsey to get his attention and she heard him reproach the cardinal good-naturedly.

"You never told me how beautiful she was, Cardinal Wolsey – for a Frenchman, that is almost a crime!" Although he spoke in his own tongue, either thinking that she would not understand or not caring if she did, Katherine knew enough French to understand what he had said and her heart sank at the thought that Bellay was unlikely to be the only one who thought Anne beautiful or considered that she and Henry made a lovely couple.

The music ended with a flourish as Henry and Anne exchanged a kiss, prompting a ripple of applause from most of the people watching.

Cardinal Wolsey led the applause, as though he was competing with Boleyn and Norfolk over who could cheer most enthusiastically. Princess Mary kept her hands folded in her lap, her fingers twined together as though she was afraid that they might start to clap against her will if she did not keep them under control. Princess Margaret also refused to applaud, her arms folded across her chest and a bored, disapproving expression on her face as she watched.

It would have been very tempting to follow the examples of her young daughter or her sister-in-law but Katherine could feel the eyes of Ambassador de Bellay on her, together with those of many of the court as they watched her, looking to see her reaction, waiting to see if she would snub her husband and his other wife by refusing to applaud. Henry's gaze flickered to her, as though he wanted her to refuse to applaud so that he would be able to tell himself and others that she was a bitter, jealous woman, perhaps even that her presence at court was sowing discord and that he was justified in separating her from Mary, in case she poisoned their daughter against him and against Anne or even sending her away altogether.

She knew better than to give Henry that justification or to give the French ambassador something to run back to his master with and her pride refused to allow her to falter before the courtiers, giving them reason to pity or to mock her.

She smiled with the same warmth and applauded with the same enthusiasm as she would have for any other masquerade or entertainment, carefully concealing her true feelings, refusing to let anybody see what was in her heart.

* * *

Henry and Anne had chosen the timing of their entrance very carefully.

After the masquerade, they had excused themselves as they needed to change out of their costumes and they had waited before reappearing until after Katherine had been escorted into the Great Hall by the Duke of Norfolk, England's highest-ranking peer after Anne, and seated for the banquet, on the high carved chair on the right of the one reserved for Henry. Anne would be sitting on his left and Bellay had been assigned the place on her other side – a clever move, Katherine noted inwardly, her shrewd mind immediately discerning the reason for the place setting; not only was Anne, a known supporter of a French alliance, going to be sitting next to the ambassador, as the ambassador was the guest of honour, Henry would be expected to converse with him... which would mean that he would be able to look away from Katherine and towards Anne.

Mary was to sit on her mother's right and Wolsey, assigned a place on Mary's other side, also seemed to guess the reasoning behind the placements and he did not look pleased to be assigned a seat on the side that of the table Henry was all but guaranteed to ignore.

Henry must have had somebody watching, waiting to send a message to him and to Anne so that they could choose the perfect time to make their appearance. As soon as everybody was seated, a herald of trumpets announced their arrival and they swept into the Hall, Anne on Henry's arm. Even their clothes seemed to have been designed to compliment one another's, deep purple silks in different hues with gold embroidery and jewellery. Henry's expression was proud as he escorted Anne to the table and seated her, greeting Bellay warmly.

"Your Excellency."

"Your Majesties." Bellay bowed his head, smiling warmly at them both.

Henry laid a hand over Anne's. "Allow me to present my wife, the Princess Consort." He said formally, even though the ambassador was likely to be well aware of Anne's identity.

"Madame." Bellay took Anne's extended hand in his and kissed it. "It is an honour to meet you at last."

Anne smiled, greeting the ambassador in his native tongue and beginning to speak to him, a conversation that Henry joined. Katherine spoke some French but she was not fluent enough to follow the exact train of their conversation so she watched Wolsey out of the corner of her eye, noting his reaction to their conversation. While he was far from pleased that he was not able to speak with the ambassador himself, Wolsey's expression revealed neither pleasure nor displeasure at what he was hearing, so Katherine decided that she did not need to worry.

While Anne focused on charming the ambassador, with Henry watching her adoringly, Katherine spoke to Mary, trying to distracted the child's attention from the woman sitting on her father's other side, at whom she was looking with a sullen expression that marred her pretty face and made her look older than her eleven years. She also noticed that Margaret was holding out her goblet for more wine frequently, so frequently that her husband attempted to remonstrate with her in a hushed tone, trying to persuade her to drink water instead and warning her to be careful of what she said, warnings that Margaret was ignoring, knowing that he would not dare to draw attention to them by speaking more loudly or, worse still, by taking her goblet of wine from her.

The last thing he wanted was for Henry to notice what was going on.

Katherine shared his concern. Margaret's tongue could often be loosened when she had had too much to drink and Henry would be furious with her if she did something to spoil the banquet for Ambassador de Bellay. Not even her being his sister would help her and, even at the best of times, when Henry was angry, for whatever reason, he could turn on others, people who had not been connected to the original offence but who were unfortunate enough to rouse his temper... which had been especially short of late.

On Henry's other side, Anne spoke to Bellay, relieved that he was friendly, offering her and Henry congratulations on their marriage on his master's behalf and noting that King Francis and his Queen remembered her fondly from her days as one of Queen Claude's ladies-in-waiting and wished her and Henry every happiness in their marriage. More importantly, his presence and the seating arrangements meant that she did not have to speak to Katherine, or to the Princesses Mary or Margaret or to Wolsey. She was between Henry and the ambassador, with her father just beyond Bellay, and no reason why she should have to speak to anybody else.

She knew better than to think that this would always be the case but, for her first state banquet as Henry's wife and consort, it was a relief.

With dinner over, the floor was cleared for dancing and the minstrels in the gallery began to play. Henry rose, carefully keeping his back to Katherine as he extended his hand to Anne for the first dance, asking Bellay to excuse them and then leading her onto the floor so that they could lead the dance. Several courtiers followed them, including Princess Margaret, who took her husband's arm possessively and towed him onto the space cleared for dancing, stumbling slightly as she began to dance, her sense of balance affected by the wine she had drunk. Fortunately for her, Brandon was able to catch her before she fell and Henry was absorbed with Anne and did not notice her near-miss.

"Are you alright, my love?" Henry asked gently, feeling the tension in Anne's hand as they moved effortlessly through the graceful dance. She glanced behind them and he followed her gaze, noticing that she was looking at Katherine. His mouth thinned as he looked back at Katherine. A small part of him wished that she had had the grace to plead illness today, absenting herself from the festivities so that Anne's first time to entertain a foreign diplomat as Princess Consort would be as comfortable as possible for her, even though he was honest enough to be able to admit to himself that if Katherine _had_ stayed away, he would have been angry with her for snubbing Ambassador de Bellay and putting their alliance with France in jeopardy.

"She's watching us, I can feel it." Anne said quietly, resting her head against his chest for a moment before twirling away and returning to his arms.

"I know." Henry responded, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb in a slow, gentle circle, hoping to soothe her with the caress. "It will be easier later," he promised, hoping that his promise would be one that he could keep. "Once we're all used to it, we'll be able to deal with it, better that we can now, at least. Just give it some time, sweetheart." Anne nodded but she looked far from convinced. "In the meantime," Henry forced himself to smile, for her sake. "Let her watch."

The dance ended and they, like the other dancers, bowed and curtsied with Henry planting a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Princess Mary, watching from the dais, took advantage of the pause between the end of this dance and the beginning of the next to spring to her feet, hurrying over to her father's side and, carefully avoiding Anne's eyes, she tugged on the sleeve of his doublet, smiling up at him.

"Will you dance with me, Papa?" She asked, grabbing his hand before he could answer, half-hoping that Anne would snap at her or even push her aside, so that her father would see just how horrible she really was but evidently Anne was too clever for that. She just smiled, pretending that she did not mind at all and excused herself, leaving Mary and her father to be partners for the next dance.

Seeing the way that her father's eyes followed Anne's movements, as though he would have preferred to pull away from his daughter and follow Anne, Mary felt her eyes well with tears and she felt a surge of fury towards Anne, who must surely have bewitched her father, drawing his attentions away from her mother – his _true_ wife – and even from his daughter. She had stolen his love, usurping it for herself. She might have been thwarted in her attempt to steal Mary's mother's rightful place as Queen but her son, when he was born, was going to steal the throne that should have been Mary's.

If she had had her way, Mary would not even be a princess any more. She would be nothing more than a bastard now, like her dead half-brother, the Duke of Richmond – and not even as important as he had been, since he had at least been a boy.

Knowing that Mary was likely to have been very put out about the fact that she had been monopolizing a great deal of Henry's time over the past months, Anne stepped back before Henry could decline his daughter's request and hurt her feelings, willing to sit this dance out and leave Henry to dance with his daughter and turning back towards the table.

Seeing her approach, Bellay rose to his feet and moved towards her. He bowed low, extending his hand to her. "May I have the honour, madame?" He asked in his heavily accented English, smiling broadly when she nodded agreement, placing her hand in his and allowing him to lead her back to the centre of the floor.

As they moved towards the other dancers, they almost collided with Princess Margaret and the Duke of Suffolk, who had finished their first dance and were returning to their places at the table.

"Your Majesty," Brandon bowed to Anne, reaching out to tug Margaret out of her path but his wife held her position, unwilling to move, looking at Anne as though she was far from impressed by what she was seeing. "Margaret!" he hissed her name in a whisper, silently willing her to step back with him but she would not move.

Before the wedding, even with Anne's titles as Duchess of Pembroke and Bedford, Margaret still outranked her and Anne would have been obliged to yield precedence to her but this was no longer the case and Margaret was far from happy about that.

She was a Princess of England and no matter what her brother had decreed about Anne's status and her place in the order of precedence, she had no intention of stepping back to make way for a Boleyn, much less curtseying as she was required to by etiquette.

For her part, Anne was equally unwilling to yield, especially when there were so many people watching, waiting to see if she would give in or if she would stand her ground, demanding the deference she was due as the King's wife. She knew that if she stepped back now, to allow Margaret to pass, if she was seen to yield precedence to Henry's sister, knowing that Margaret would never have dreamed of behaving like this around Katherine, she would be undermining her own status in front of the court, inviting others to question her position and to disrespect her as Margaret did. She did not move, raising one eyebrow, as though she was astonished that her sister-in-law would even _consider_ refusing to step aside.

Behind them, Katherine rose to her feet, worried, wondering if she should intervene or if her stepping in would only make matters worse.

Seeing Henry glance back towards him, Brandon spoke in a hissed whisper, anxious to put an end to this before Henry could come to investigate. "Margaret, step back!" He instructed, trying to pull her away.

Margaret shook her husband off like a pesky fly, staring at Anne, infuriated by her refusal to step down, by her calm assumption that Margaret would be the one to give in if she held out long enough. She didn't even seem to make a conscious decision about what she did next; her arm seemed to have a mind of its own as she raised it, her palm making contact with Anne's cheek with a loud crack, an action that prompted shocked exclamations from everyone who saw what had happened.

Henry dropped Mary's hand, hurrying over to Anne's side and putting a protective arm around her, glaring at his sister, half-ready to order her taken to the Tower and locked in the nearest dungeon, before turning to Brandon. "Get your wife out of my sight!" He all but spat out the order, waiting until Brandon had started to pull Margaret away before returning his attention to Anne leading her out of the Hall and away from the gawking crowds, waiting until they had reached the antechamber before gently prying her hand away from her cheek. "Let me see, sweetheart." He said coaxingly, his scowl deepening when he saw the faint red mark Margaret's hand had left on her face.

"Anne? Your Majesties?" Boleyn hastened into the room, hard on their heels. Seeing the anger on Henry's face, he hurried to his daughter, an appalled expression on his face as he examined the mark on her cheek. It had faded a little already, leaving only a slight reddening of the skin. "Are you alright?" He demanded of Anne. The outrage in his tone was at least partly sincere; he was furious that anybody, even the King's sister, would dare to lay a hand on Anne but, at the same time, he was also very conscious of the fact that Henry was angrier still and far from unwilling to take advantage of his anger to stir up his feelings of anger towards Princess Margaret.

Brandon was likely to prove to be useful in terms of getting rid of Wolsey, a goal that he and Norfolk had certainly not abandoned, but it was plain that his wife was not going to be willing to accept Anne as Princess Consort or, when the time came, as Queen. She could stir up feelings against Anne at court and perhaps even among the people and, worse still, she was likely to be a supporter of Katherine's, something they definitely did not need. He would be much happier to see her bundled back to Suffolk in disgrace, where she could do no further damage.

"I'm fine, Papa." Anne insisted, feeling mortified by what had happened and by the idea that people would now be speaking of her, either pityingly or gloatingly, glad that she had been humiliated like this. She would have liked nothing more than to be able to wave a magic wand and make everybody in the Hall forget what they had seen and could only imagine what Bellay would report back to King Francis, wondering if the French King would be amused by the idea that the King's sister and his second wife had come to blows. He probably would, she thought dolefully, jerking her head away from her father's hand when he reached out to examine the mark on her cheek. Her husband and her father's obvious concern made it all the more embarrassing.

"Is it hurting badly, sweetheart?" Boleyn asked solicitously, even though he was sure that her pride was stinging more than her cheek was. It certainly couldn't hurt if the King believed the blow to have been harder than it really was, increasing his anger towards his sister. "Perhaps you ought to retire to your rooms and rest, have your ladies find a lotion..."

"No!" Anne insisted at once. Running away to hide was the one thing she could not do. She turned to look at Henry. "I want to go back inside. They'll be waiting for us."

"Are you sure?" Henry asked, worried. "You don't have to, not if you'd rather not."

Had the choice been hers, leaving would certainly be a preferable option but Anne knew that it was not one that was available to her, not really, so she shook her head. "I want to go back."

Touched by her bravery, Henry smiled encouragingly, offering her his arm. "Then let's go."

* * *

**_27th March 1529_ **

She was to leave court immediately.

Henry had not sent for her to tell her personally, choosing instead to relay the message to Brandon, who had made it clear to her that she was the last person her brother wanted to see right now. She was forbidden to come into his presence under any circumstances, or to go near Anne unless her intention was to apologize humbly and sincerely for her behaviour. While she would be perfectly happy if she never had to be in the same room as Anne again and while she wasn't especially eager to see Henry either, it was annoying that her own brother wasn't prepared to speak to her and to hear what she had to say about what had happened.

Realistically, she knew that there was nothing that she would be able to say to him that would make him any less angry about what had happened and that even if she had an excuse to offer him, he would side with his slut over her, any day but it was still irritating and insulting to be banished from his presence. She was a Tudor too, a King's daughter, just as he was a King's son. She was not a minor courtier to be dismissed in disgrace for displeasing her sovereign.

Charles had been angry and worried when he brought the news of her banishment from court to her, grimly noting that it was very fortunate for them that he had not also been banished and reminding her, for the umpteenth time, of their need to stay in Henry's good graces and that, for the time being at any rate, that meant not antagonizing Anne.

"Nobody's asking you to be her friend, Margaret, but you need to stay out of her way at the very least – Henry was ready to strangle you yesterday! I really think that he considered having you arrested."

"He wouldn't dare." She could be confident of that much, at least. Even if Henry forgot it, the people remembered that she was a King's daughter. They would never tolerate her being arrested and imprisoned, especially if her only crime was to give Anne the slap that she was sure that most people would agree she richly deserved. "It's not as if I did anything that most of the people at court wouldn't want to do."

"That's not the point!" He snapped at her. " _They_ didn't do it, _you_ did and Henry is furious with you. He told me that if you're not gone from here by the end of the day, he's going to have you thrown out of the palace."

She nodded comprehension. She had expected something like that. "Then I'd better say goodbye to the Queen." Leaving her husband behind in the suite of rooms that was theirs whenever they visited the court, where her maid was busy packing her things into her trunk for her journey back to Suffolk, she made her way through the corridors to Katherine's quarters.

As she expected, Katherine had Mary with her. She dismissed her ladies-in-waiting as soon as Margaret entered, smiling sadly at her as she made her curtsey and took her seat.

"I've come to say goodbye." She announced without preamble.

"Papa banished you, didn't he?" Mary said, her brow furrowed in a scowl at the thought.

"That's right." Margaret said calmly.

"And just for slapping _her_." Mary said, a small smile crossing her face when she remembered some of the things she had heard said. "Some people are saying that you beat her really badly." She said, a part of her wishing that this had been the case. "So badly that she had to see a physician."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Henry _did_ send for a physician yesterday night." Margaret remarked, her disdain for her brother's overprotectiveness towards Anne plain.

"That's just foolish gossip, Mary." Katherine told her, a faint note of warning in her tone. "People who weren't there have heard rumours about what happened and the details have been exaggerated." The expression on her face was grave as she looked at the other woman. "You should not have done it, Margaret." She said quietly. She knew that Margaret, like Henry, could be hot-tempered and that, given her dislike of Anne, a confrontation was all but inevitable but even so, she had not expected that it would be as bad as this – or that Margaret would have chosen a time when they were entertaining a visiting ambassador to make her feelings about the newest member of the family known.

Knowing that Anne had probably been anxious to ensure that the occasion went well, Katherine also couldn't help but feel some pity for her, remembering how determinedly Anne had tried to appear calm and in control of herself, to pretend as though it had never happened. Even so, she had not been able to fully hide her discomfort at the stares of the people in the Hall, or her dismay over how her plans to ensure a perfect reception for the ambassador had failed to work out.

"I'm not sorry to be banished." Margaret said, leaning casually back into her chair. "I've been asking Henry for permission to go back home for weeks but he has always refused." She smirked. "If I'd known that all it would take to get him to agree was to slap his precious concubine, I'd have done it a long time ago." Seeing the disapproving expression on Katherine's face, she felt a surge of defensiveness. Of all people, she had expected her to understand what she had done, and to empathize with her reasons for doing so. "I'm sure that you would have loved to do the same thing." She said challengingly.

Mary's gaze shifted from her aunt to her mother as she awaited the latter's response, curious about what she would say.

Katherine was silent for a moment before she finally voiced an answer. "No," she said honestly. "I wouldn't."


	7. Chapter Six

**_28th June 1529_ **

Since the day she and Henry were married, it seemed to Anne as though almost everybody at court was keeping a constant watch on her for signs of a pregnancy, some of them praying that she would become pregnant quickly and produce a healthy son within the year while others, those who supported Katherine and who hoped to see her daughter eventually succeed as Queen, hoped that she would never bear a child.

Her father was more direct than most people would ever have dared to be. Although she did not know who it was, Anne knew that at least one of the maidservants who saw to it that her apartment was kept clean and in order reported to him, letting him know when she had her courses so that he could keep note of it, but that did not keep him from quizzing her relentlessly about her health and about how often she and the King bedded. His queries were deeply embarrassing, even though he asked his questions in private, away from curious ears, and his visible irritation when she wasn't able to tell him what she wanted to hear angered her, especially when Henry, the person who had the most right to be impatient, had never spoken a word of reproach when each month brought a fresh disappointment, gently reminding her that they were both young, that they had been married only a few months and that they had plenty of time for children.

Her father couldn't see it that way.

The first time her courses came after the wedding, less than three weeks after the ring was placed on her finger, he swore loudly, as though he had expected her to become pregnant the first time she and Henry lay together but he had consoled himself with the thought that it was early days still, and that if she _had_ been pregnant already, it might make some people suspect that the child was conceived before the wedding and that was undesirable, to say the least. The last thing they needed was to be exposed to further ridicule.

The second time, his impatience increased and he reminded her, in no uncertain terms, that she could not consider her position secure if she did not bear a living son, or at least a daughter to prove her fertility, in the very near future. If the King chose to set her aside in favour of another woman, she did not have the same powerful relatives that had ensured that Katherine's marriage would not be annulled and she would be unable to stop it. His words were frightening, and despite Anne's attempts to reassure herself that she had no cause to fear being cast aside, she could not be entirely convinced by her own reassurances.

Last month, he had become angry, demanding to know if she was doing anything that might reduce her chances of conceiving and indicating that, if this pattern should continue much longer, they would need to have a midwife examine her, to ensure that there was no physical problem or abnormality that was affecting her ability to conceive, muttering darkly that he should have thought to see to that before the wedding and worrying about what they were to do if it turned out that she was incapable of bearing children.

When her courses were late this month, she did not tell anyone, afraid that her joy might be premature and that she might begin bleeding any day now but two full weeks had passed since the day they were expected and she was beginning to feel hopeful, though it was a hope she shared with nobody, not even Henry – although, since he could count the weeks as well as any other man, she was sure that he suspected already.

Like her, he did not say anything to anybody, not even her, as though he was afraid that if either of them voiced their hopes aloud, they might call disappointment down on themselves.

Henry was no stranger to disappointment; during his years with Katherine, he had rejoiced in news of almost a dozen pregnancies, each time certain that he would get the son he longed for, only to have his hopes dashed within a matter of weeks, when the pregnancy ended in a miscarriage, or months later when the child was stillborn and the preparations for the nursery, the christening and the celebrations had to be quietly abandoned, with all traces packed away as though they had never been. The only son of his union with Katherine to survive his birth had died within his first month of life, devastating his parents and the people, and all they had to show for their long years of marriage was a single living daughter.

It was no wonder that he was being so careful not to voice his hopes aloud, so afraid of tempting Fate and seeing this fresh hope of a son and heir snatched away from him if he dared to celebrate too soon, but although he had not said anything about the possibility that she might be carrying his child, he had been especially gentle with her these past couple of weeks, urging her to eat well and to make sure that she didn't overexert herself. During the night, when they fell asleep together in the great bed in her chamber, she held close in his arms, his hand would stray down to rest over her abdomen, as though to shelter the child he hoped grew within her.

Even her father respected the unspoken agreement that they would hold their peace on the subject of a possible pregnancy for the time being, until they could be sure that she was truly carrying Henry's child, but there could be no doubt that he knew of the possibility. She had been spared this month's interrogation, for one thing, and her father was also treating her with marked kindness, cautioning her to be careful and to ensure that she got plenty of rest, insisting that if there was anything she needed, she should let him know at once.

When she and Henry attended Mass, as they did every morning, they knelt side by side on velvet cushions before the carved marble altar while Wolsey conducted the service, each of them praying for the same thing, each of them counting the days, their hopes becoming stronger with each morning that passed without signs of bleeding.

Despite the undeniably unorthodox circumstances of their union, despite the discomfort of knowing that Henry's other wife – although he persisted in his insistence that Katherine was his sister-in-law and nothing more – was living under the same roof as they did, they were happy, delighted to be together.

There was only one thing missing and they both prayed that by next spring, that void would be filled.

* * *

**_1st August 1529_ **

Anne didn't think that she had ever seen Henry's smile as wide as it was on the day she told him of her pregnancy.

Once she began to be sick in the mornings, suffering violent bouts of nausea at the sight and smells of certain foods, they had both known what those signs indicated but even then, neither of them had actually voiced their suspicions aloud.

Henry fussed over her tenderly, insisting that she should sleep late and take her breakfast in bed rather than getting up too soon and making herself feel even more unwell than she was already, ordering dainties from the kitchens to tempt her reluctant appetite, quizzing the head gardeners about the fruits and vegetables that grew, out of season, in the hot houses and enquiring about which countries they could order such things during the long winter months, when England's climate prevented them from growing here, even with the help of the gardeners' skill, and insisting that if she fancied anything, no matter what it was, to let him know and he would have it brought to her but despite these measures, he had not alluded to the possibility of a pregnancy, behaving as though it was perfectly normal for a loving husband to act this way at all times and she had gone along with his example.

It was as though they were both afraid that if they spoke of it, they would break the spell, as though the child they both prayed was in her womb was a butterfly or a bird that might be startled if they approached it too suddenly and that it could fly away, never to return.

It was over a month after she first began to suspect that Anne finally drummed up the courage to send for a midwife, dismissing all of her ladies when they came to help her dress after breakfast, claiming that she felt unwell – not untruthfully; her nervousness had made her stomach even more agitated than normal – and that she would summon them later, when she was feeling better and keeping only her sister as company. She did not want them to know more about what was happening than they had already guessed for themselves. When the midwife arrived, she swore the woman to secrecy and paid for that secrecy with a purse of gold coins before she took off her robe and lay back on her bed in her nightgown to allow her to examine her, answering a litany of questions about her courses and about her physical symptoms while her belly was gently probed.

The midwife's smile was broad when she finished her examination.

"If I may, I would advise Your Majesty to order that a cradle be made. You will need it, come the spring – in March, I should think." It was all she said but it was all she needed to say.

Anne was too excited to even contemplate leaving her apartment and going out into the court. She was certain that one look at her face would be all anybody would need to know the truth about her condition and she had no intention of allowing Henry to hear this wonderful news through court gossips.

She was his wife and she would tell him herself.

Seeing her shining eyes and flushed cheeks, the midwife gently reminded her that too much excitement would not be good for her or for the child she carried, particularly when this was her first pregnancy, and that she should be careful to take it easy, especially in the early part of her pregnancy.

"The first three months are usually the worst, Your Majesty," she explained, avoiding mention of the fact that most women who lost babies lost them during the first third of their pregnancy. It was not something to say to a woman who was carrying a child for the first time, particularly such an important child, and who did not need any additional worries. "It is likely that you will continue to feel sickly in the mornings and that you will tire easily but that's nothing that you need to be concerned about. It happens to many women – particularly when they are carrying strong sons, at least in my experience. The best thing you can do for yourself and for the child is to rest as much as possible and to eat well, even if you find that you have no appetite."

Anne nodded obediently, touching her abdomen with awed fingers. The midwife seemed to realize that she could not expect her to take in all she was saying about the proper precautions that she would need to observe, so she directed her advice at Mary instead, listing the foods that Anne should eat sparingly or not at all while she carried the child and those that she should ensure she ate plenty of, recommending red meat, as it was good for the blood, and noting that asparagus was said to help make a boy, and advising that while she could continue dancing and riding for the time being if she wished to and the exercise was likely to do her good, she should be careful not to overdo it and that she should stop as soon as her pregnancy advanced to the point where she began to experience discomfort during those activities.

Mary's softly spoken query about the marriage bed left the midwife quiet and thoughtful for a moment, knowing how important it was that she should not give them any wrong advice, just in case, before she finally said that, for the early part of the pregnancy, it would do no harm if Anne continued with her connubial duties, as long as the King was gentle and Anne was careful but that they should speak to a physician when she began to feel the baby move within her, seeking his advice before they continued.

Anne scarcely heard a word of what she was saying, dismissing the midwife with her thanks and a reminder that she should not speak of this to anybody for the moment. She did not want her secret to be revealed to anybody outside her immediate family circle just yet, not until the baby quickened. They would probably suspect but she had no intention of confirming those suspicions just yet, not this soon.

She wanted it to stay a secret, hers, Henry's and her family's, for just a little longer.

Once the midwife had departed, vowing that she would keep the secret until Anne gave her permission to break her silence, Mary moved to sit next to Anne on the bed, hugging her lightly. As a rule, their embraces and signs of physical affection were kept for the rare occasions when they were alone together, as Anne's new status meant that even her family were supposed to treat her with the respect and deference her rank demanded, but under the circumstances, neither of them cared about protocol.

"Congratulations, Anne." Mary kissed her sister's cheek. "The King will be overjoyed!"

"Papa too." Anne added dryly.

Mary giggled at that, thinking that once their father learned of his coming grandchild, he would be happier and prouder than ever, something that was probably going to irritate the courtiers who disliked him to no end. George would also be thrilled by the prospect of being uncle to a future King of England. She sobered abruptly, thinking that while their family would be happy, there would be others who were just as dismayed by the news as the Boleyns and Howards would be pleased.

Princess Mary was still far from reconciled to the idea of her father's second marriage or to having Anne as a stepmother and it was very likely that she would be disappointed to hear that Anne was carrying her half-sibling, knowing that if the child was a boy, her place as heir to the throne would be immediately usurped, something that would be displeasing even if the boy was born to her mother, let alone to another woman. Queen Katherine was another to whom the news would come as a blow, although it was doubtful that she would allow anybody – certainly not someone connected with Anne – to see her unhappiness, putting on a brave face and refusing to allow anybody to see how she truly felt. It would have to be difficult for her, after hoping and praying for a son for so long, to have to watch while her husband's other wife succeeded where she had failed, knowing that it would meant that her own beloved daughter would be disinherited and, despite her closeness to Anne and the fact that she was always going to support her sister, Mary couldn't help feeling some pity for Katherine.

Katherine's supporters would also be unhappy and Mary suppressed a shudder at the thought that some of them might even pray that Anne would lose her child, so that it could not be born a healthy son who would supplant Princess Mary as heir.

She kept her arm around her sister's shoulders, wishing that there was a way to keep people from hating Anne as much as they seemed to but she knew that there was nothing that could be done about it. In time, when those at court became accustomed to the situation and when Anne bore a healthy son to secure the succession, she hoped that people would start to come around but until then, there was no sense in worrying about something that only time would be able to change.

Instead, she turned her thoughts to a far more pleasant topic. "When will you tell the King? He's going to want to know as soon as possible." The King had waited so many years for a son that it seemed almost cruel to make him wait any longer than he had to to learn of Anne's condition. As well as that, Mary thought that if their father learned that Anne's condition had been confirmed, he might want to be the one to tell his royal son-in-law the good news himself, so that he could reap the benefits of Anne's fertility and it was far more fitting that Anne should be the one to tell the King the good news herself.

"Now." Anne decided. "I'll tell him now. I think that he's meeting with Wolsey…"

"I'll tell him that you want to see him." Mary promised, rising and giving her sister another smile. "I'm sure that His Majesty would agree that this news is far more important than whatever he is discussing with Wolsey. The good cardinal can wait." She remarked, drawing a giggle from Anne at the thought of Wolsey's reaction to being left waiting while the King hastened back to his wife's rooms.

Once Mary had left on her errand, Anne put her robe back on, feeling chilly in only her nightgown, and sat down on one of the chairs next to the fire in her bedchamber.

She did not have to wait long.

Henry must have _ran_ from his study to her apartment once Mary gave him her message for him to be able to get there so quickly and the expression on his face was one of mingled hope and concern as he hastened into her bedchamber, crouching down in front of her chair and taking both of her hands in his.

"What is it, my love? Your sister told me that you needed to see me straightaway – you're not feeling sick, are you?"

"Yes." Anne answered honestly, nausea rising once more at the mention of sickness. She gave him a smile, patting her abdomen lightly. "But in a good cause."

"Are you telling me…" Henry almost didn't dare to believe what he was hearing, a broad grin spreading across his face. He kissed both of Anne's hands before taking her in his arms and hugging her tightly, feeling her nod of confirmation against his shoulder. He held her close for a few more minutes before releasing her, holding her at arms length for a moment and scrutinizing her face for signs of exhaustion or sickness. "Have you spoken to Dr Linacre?" He asked anxiously, not wanting to take any chances, with Anne or with their child.

"To a midwife; she said that the sickness in the mornings is normal and nothing to worry about." She assured him hastily, guessing what he was worried about.

"Are you certain?" Henry pressed. Anne nodded confirmation but, even so, he still felt worried. "I think you ought to speak to Dr Linacre as well, sweetheart, just to be on the safe side." He recommended, kissing her again. "We can't take any chances with you, can we? Or with our son. Our son." He repeated the two words slowly, awed, as he gently touched Anne's abdomen. There was no outward sign of her pregnancy, not yet, but it would not be long now. "Did the midwife say when we could expect him?"

"In March."

"Another seven months." Henry said softly. It did not sound like such a long time when he said it aloud, especially after all the time he had already waited, but he felt as though those seven months would last an eternity while they awaited the arrival of their boy. However, he knew that he would have waited longer, if his patience would be rewarded with a healthy son.

Anne seemed to read his thoughts, placing her hand over his. "He'll be worth the wait."

* * *

As a matter of principle, Katherine refused to pay one of the women in Anne's household to spy on their mistress.

Ambassador Mendoza had employed all of his tact to try to persuade her that she might be better off if she made sure that she was well informed about her rival's movements, offering to make her privy to any information gleaned by his own source, should he be able to arrange one, even if she chose not to employ a spy of her own, an offer she had politely but firmly declined.

Although he understood that she found the idea of invading Anne's privacy – what little of it she had, given how public the life of a royal consort was – to be distasteful in the extreme, he still urged her to reconsider.

"It is very probable that even if she herself does not employ one of your women to be her eyes and ears in your rooms, Wiltshire or Norfolk will be paying one of them and relaying the information to the lady." He remonstrated with her. Mendoza never referred to Anne by her title of Princess Consort, something Katherine had noticed before. Like the French ambassador, he had been formally presented to Anne after the wedding but while he treated her with the required deference in public, addressing her as 'Your Majesty' and making sure to observe the courtesies that Henry demanded on Anne's behalf, in private, she was simply 'the lady' and his tone when he spoke of her clearly indicated that the opinion he held of her was far from high.

Katherine privately considered that since so many of her women seemed to be receiving bribes from Wolsey to spy on her, Anne, her father and her uncle might find that it was easier said than done to recruit somebody who was willing to betray her but who wasn't already in the cardinal's employ to report to them – though given Wolsey's desire to ingratiate himself with Anne, the possibility that he would relay news to her could not be discounted – but that was beside the point. "Even if the Princess Consort chooses to attempt to bribe one of my ladies to betray me, that is no justification for me to emulate her." She said firmly, determinedly suppressing the temptation.

To do Anne justice, so far she had behaved about as well as she could be expected to, avoiding confrontations and, to the best of Katherine's knowledge, never uttering a word against her or against Mary to Henry, in the hopes of stirring up bad feelings towards them but even if Anne was setting out to be as much of a nuisance as she possibly could, Katherine had no intention of sinking to that level. She was the Queen of England and before that she had been a Princess of Spain. She would not forget the dignity of her position.

Even if she did want to have a spy in Anne's household, she doubted her ability to find somebody willing and able to report to her. Anne's ladies-in-waiting were largely hand-picked by her father and uncle, who surrounded her with young women from their own family and families they trusted, people who would benefit if Anne continued to enjoy Henry's favour, and while it was likely that Wiltshire and Norfolk had spies reporting their own daughter and niece's movements to them, it was unlikely that Katherine would be able to find one of their number who sympathized with her enough to be willing to betray Anne.

"I understand that the idea is a distasteful one, Your Majesty," Mendoza said gently, making one last attempt to persuade her to change her mind. "I myself would prefer not to have to rely on the information of spies but it can, on occasion, prove to be invaluable. I truly believe that it would be better for you if you made sure that you knew what the lady is doing, and what is happening in her life, so that you are not caught unawares."

He could have been speaking of any number of things; how Anne was reacting to Mary's refusal to acknowledge her and whether or not she was becoming so impatient with the young girl that she would be prepared to urge Henry to punish her or to banish her from the court altogether, whether or not Anne and Henry were truly reconciled to the idea of continuing with their unorthodox marital circumstances or whether they were debating the question of whether or not they would be able to reopen the issue of an annulment, ending Katherine's marriage to Henry and bastardising Mary but without putting the validity of his union with Anne or the legitimacy of the children they hoped to have in jeopardy but Katherine knew instinctively what he was referring to and she smiled sadly.

Mendoza was a good man, one who had championed her interests to her nephew, the Emperor and she believed that his devotion to her was sincere and that he spoke only out of a desire to help her, knowing what a blow the news of a pregnancy for Anne would be to her and wanting to ensure that she was forearmed by the knowledge, which could be imparted to her in private, allowing her to grieve in solitude rather than leaving her to hear about it through the court rumour mills or, worse still, a public announcement of the fact, leaving her open to the scrutiny of the courtiers, all of whom would be looking at her to see her reaction, knowing how devastating the news would be to her but he was too late to soften that news for her.

"The Earl of Wiltshire has been looking especially pleased with himself these past weeks," she observed quietly, "as have the Duke of Norfolk and Lord Rochford. The Princess Consort has also been keeping to her own rooms a great deal… especially in the mornings." She did not add that Henry was also fussing over Anne like a mother hen, coddling her more than ever, taking her slightest wish as his command – and she had once thought that it would be impossible for him to be more indulgent with her than he had been during their courtship and the first months of their marriage. It was too painful to think of Henry rejoicing over the coming child, cosseting and spoiling the woman who was to bear his child, not when that woman was not herself. She could remember how considerate and how thoughtful Henry was each time she became pregnant, each time they both hoped and prayed that _this_ time it would be different, and imagine how tender he was being to Anne. "I am sure that you know as well as I what this is likely to portend." She finished sadly.

It was so hard not to doubt.

She had prayed for a son for years, with each pregnancy seeming like a blessing from God, as sign that her bad luck in childbearing was at an end and that she would be able to present Henry with the strong, healthy son he craved, fulfilling her primary duty as the Queen of England but her prayers were not answered.

Instead, it seemed that God had decided that Anne should be the one to bear England the prince that Katherine should have given it.

The thought was one that sorely tested her faith and she spent many hours on her knees, imploring God to grant her the ability to accept His will, to accept that if He gave Anne a son, He would have His reasons for doing so and that it was not her place to question Him but it but it was difficult to resign herself to the thought. She felt hypocritical urging Mary to accept God's will and to reconcile herself to the idea that Anne was likely to bear a son eventually when it was something she found so difficult to do herself.

Mendoza's expression was sympathetic as he looked at her, knowing what a blow this was for her. For himself, he had been outraged when he learned of King Henry's intention to end his marriage with so good and gracious as lady as Queen Katherine, particularly when he learned the identity of the woman intended as her replacement, a woman he considered barely worthy to be permitted a place among the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, let alone to sit on the Queen's throne and he had wasted no time in communicating the news to the Emperor, ensuring that his master was made aware of this threat to his aunt so that he could use his influence to ensure that a good woman was not done out of her rights and that a blameless wife was not branded an unwitting harlot, her child named as a bastard. However, despite the Emperor's power, he had only been able to secure a partial victory.

The compromise that the pope had agreed to, not wanting to offend either party more than he had to as a time might come when he would need to be on good terms with them, would ensure that Queen Katherine's status was safe for as long as she lived, even if the indignity of knowing that her husband had another wife caused her pain and distress, but it was Princess Mary who would really lose out, as she would be stripped of her status as heiress presumptive to the throne as soon as her half-brother was born… something that was likely to happen in the very near future.

His voice was soft when he spoke to Katherine, only able to utter two words: "I'm sorry."

* * *

**_24th August 1529_ **

In deference to Anne's wishes, and out of his own desire not to celebrate too prematurely, Henry had agreed that they would wait at least a few weeks longer before they made any public announcement of her pregnancy but there were some things that he was not prepared to wait any longer for, some people who had to be told beforehand, privately.

Naturally, Anne's family were told and her ladies also needed to know of their mistress' condition so that they could make sure that they kept a sufficiently sharp eye on her, alert for any problems that might arise and ready to deal with any difficulties she encountered, making sure that if she became tired and needed a nap, they would cancel all of her appointments with visitors and ensure that she was not disturbed while she rested, that if she felt sick, they would send for a physician and if she fancied anything special to eat, no matter what it was, that they made discreet arrangements to have it brought to her. Wolsey was also among the first to be told, since Henry wanted his friend to be able to say private Masses for Anne's safe delivery and the birth of a healthy prince on a daily basis. Anne might be somewhat wary of Wolsey, not able to feel confident that he truly supported her but Henry knew that his friend was well aware of the importance of the birth of a healthy prince and he was sure that his prayers would be sincere.

There was still another piece of business, however, one that Henry wanted to deal with immediately, afraid to tempt Fate by not making proper provision for it in advance and this was why he had summoned a small, select group of men to a private meeting.

Boleyn and Norfolk sat together on his right, with Brandon and More on his left and Wolsey seated at the bottom of the table, opposite Henry. Master Cromwell stood behind Henry, quill poised over a sheet of parchment, ready to take notes, silent, discreet and unobtrusive, as befitted a secretary. The five men at the table sat in silence, waiting expectantly for Henry to begin speaking, although three of them were certain that they knew what he was about to say and the other two had their suspicions.

Henry did not mince words. "Her Majesty the Princess Consort is expecting a child in the coming spring, with God's help." He announced without preamble, returning Boleyn and Norfolk's pleased grins at his words.

"Congratulations, Your Majesty. This is wonderful news!" Brandon said warmly, smiling widely and trying to show as much enthusiasm as he could without his joy seeming feigned. Although Henry had not blamed him for Margaret lashing out at Anne, berating him for his inability to control his wife or suggesting that he too should be banished from the court with her, he was clever enough to know that he should tread carefully, not giving his friend any reason to doubt his loyalty or to think that he shared Margaret's sentiments towards Anne.

"News that all of England has been longing to hear, and that I have been praying for." Wolsey added with equal warmth, smiling as though this was the best news that he could ever have heard. "God be praised."

"It is indeed good news, Your Majesty." More said. Although his tone and demeanour were sombre and he was unable to make the same show of pleasure as the other men did, knowing as he did how much of a blow the news would be to Katherine and to Princess Mary, Fortune was smiling on him today and Henry did not notice, too caught up in his own pleasure to notice one serious face among the happy ones.

Henry acknowledged the expressions of pleasure with a nod before continuing. "We will be making no public announcement of the Princess Consort's condition, not for the present, but there are certain things that will need to be arranged sooner rather than later. If I should die…" He raised a hand to forestall the inevitable objections that he was in no danger of dying any time soon. It was difficult enough for him to speak of the possibility and he did not want to be distracted by their reassurances. "I am still a young man but that is not always a barrier to death." He reminded them.

They could not argue with that; none of them had forgotten the terror of the sweating sickness and the King was a sportsman, an accident could put an end to his life as easily as illness.

"There can be no question over the validity of my marriage to the Princess Consort, or over the legitimacy of our children?"

The question was addressed to More, who shook his head. "No, Your Majesty. The marriage is true and lawful in the eyes of God and under English law." Even if there were some people who did not approve of the fact that Henry had taken a second wife, none of them could or would dispute his right to do so, not when the pope had given his blessing.

"Good." Henry nodded. "And when our son is born, he will become my rightful heir." This was not a question but More still nodded, as did a few of the other men at the table. He swallowed before speaking again, getting to the heart of the matter, the possibility that truly frightened him. "Should I die before our son reaches manhood, then somebody will need to govern on his behalf until he comes of age."

More was perhaps the only person at the table who neither expected or wanted the job of governing on behalf of Henry's heir; Boleyn and Norfolk both straightened in their seats, like boys at school waiting eagerly for their teacher to call on them, confident that their relationships with Anne made them the most likely candidates, while Wolsey looked both hopeful and wary and even Brandon was eager, knowing that as Henry's friend and brother-in-law, he could not be ruled out as a possibility.

"Gentlemen, we wish for you to draft an Act to be put before Parliament, ensuring that in the event of my death before my heir comes of age, the Princess Consort will act as both guardian of the heir and Regent of the kingdom until he is old enough to rule alone."

"You do not wish to nominate a Lord Protector, Your Majesty?" Wolsey queried tentatively, trying to keep the doubt from his tone. "And a council of advisors?"

"Her Majesty will select them, should the need arise." Henry responded, glancing at the men at the table. "I am certain that you will all be willing to lend her whatever assistance she needs."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Boleyn agreed at once, clearly very pleased by this turn of events.

It was no surprise that he was happy, More thought. Even if his daughter held the position of Regent in name, Boleyn was likely to end up heavily involved in the running of the country, assuming many of the tasks of government on her behalf. Like most of her sex, Anne had had little opportunity to be educated about politics and government, much less had any practical experience of it. So far, the most she had had to govern was her own household, and even then her chamberlain and her highest-ranking ladies would shoulder most of the burden.

How could Henry possibly expect her to manage to govern a country? Why would he want her to, when there was another option, somebody far better suited to the task?

"What about the Queen, Your Majesty?" He asked, knowing that he was braving Henry's wrath by mentioning Katherine but refusing to remain silent, despite Wolsey's warning look.

"What about her?" Henry asked curtly.

"Surely she would be a better choice as Regent." More pointed out. Katherine was a mature woman, popular and respected throughout the country. As the daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand, she had grown up in royal courts, observing as her parents governed over their domains from her earliest years. As Henry's wife, she had ruled on his behalf on a couple of occasions, when he was away. Anne was clever, More did not deny that, but she was still young and very inexperienced and he couldn't believe that even Henry, besotted as he was, could truly think that the girl he had insisted on marrying would be a better Regent than Katherine. He could understand Henry's desire to leave the guardianship of his child in its mother's hands but the kingdom was another matter.

Henry scowled at him, furious with him for daring to challenge his decision – and in front of others, no less. "It is our wish that the Princess Consort will be Regent, Sir Thomas, should England's next ruler succeed to the throne as a minor or should we be absent or unable to govern." He spoke slowly and deliberately, as though More was a simpleton, unable to understand his words. "In the event of my death, Lady Katherine will be permitted to style herself as Queen Dowager and to retire from the court, to the country."

He had not spelled out his full intentions with regard to Katherine but he did not need to.

Exile, in everything but name.

As strange and uncomfortable as the situation was now, it had the potential to become much more confusing if Henry predeceased his wives. He would leave behind two widows and two heirs, Princess Mary and the child Anne carried. If the latter was a boy, then his mother and her family would want to make sure that his position, not to mention their hold on power were as secure as they could possibly be and they would be better able to achieve that aim if they did not have Katherine present, another royal widow and the mother of a Princess of England.

As Queen Dowager, she could be swept aside, completely cut off from the government of the country. She would be treated with honour and amply provided for but she would be banished from the court that had been her home for so long; if she was permitted to return, it would only be for special feast days, when the people would want to see a show of solidarity on the part of the royal family. Princess Mary would be left with the choice of staying at court, ingratiating herself with the new regime in the hopes that Anne and her council would see fit to arrange a proper, royal marriage for her or else risking her future by accompanying her mother when she left the court.

Looking at Henry, he realized that this was his intention. His priority was to protect Anne's position and rights, and those of their coming child, even if it was at the expense of Katherine and their daughter that he achieved this aim.

"Master Cromwell," Henry turned slightly in his chair to address the man standing behind him. "You are a trained barrister, are you not?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Cromwell replied with a shallow bow.

"You will assist Cardinal Wolsey and Lord Wiltshire in drawing up the Act of Regency." He commanded, glancing towards More to make sure that he understood that choosing Cromwell for the task rather than himself was a rebuke and that it should be taken as one. "Once you have a draft prepared, bring it to us. We wish to be able to present it to Parliament for approval as soon as possible."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Cromwell's obedient response was echoed by Boleyn and by Wolsey. He was a man whose face was serious in repose and whose expression usually revealed nothing of what he might be feeling but a slight curving of his lips betrayed his pleasure at the King's order.

"Good." Henry rose and they all sprang to their feet. "I will leave it in your capable hands."

As Henry left, Brandon and Norfolk were hard on his heels, with Boleyn and Cromwell following, already discussing the proposed Act of Regency and how best they could ensure that the King's wishes would be carried out and that Anne's position would be secure. Wolsey would have accompanied them but More reached out, catching his arm before he could leave.

"Your Eminence!" Wolsey glanced down at More's hand on his sleeve, a pointed frown on his face but More ignored the unspoken rebuke, keeping hold of him. "You must speak with the King, you may be the only one who will be able to persuade him to change his mind. He cannot leave the Lady Anne as Regent!"

"The Princess Consort." Wolsey corrected him smoothly, a bored expression on his face as he twitched his arm out of More's grip. "I think that His Majesty has already made up his mind on that count – and this is merely a precaution; I am sure that we all hope to see His Majesty live a long and healthy life, living to see his grandsons reach manhood, and that there will be no need for the Princess Consort, or anybody else, to be Regent."

More was far from impressed by Wolsey's attempt to avoid the issue but his tone was calm as he continued, willing the other man to see reason. Surely Wolsey, who had worked so hard and for so long in England's interests, couldn't want to see the country he had built pass into the hands of an inexperienced girl, knowing that in her inexperience, she could do England considerable harm, however unintentionally. Surely, given Anne's close blood ties to men Wolsey had described as his bitter enemies, he wouldn't want to see her wielding so much power, as a ruling monarch in everything but name, a position she could occupy for many years if – God forbid! – Henry died during their son's infancy.

"Queen Katherine is far more suited to the task…" He began but Wolsey lifted a hand to silence him.

"The King has decided against entrusting Queen Katherine with the task of governing the country, should the need arise. He believes that the Princess Consort will be a better choice and it is our duty to obey him." He said in a clipped tone, impatient with More's arguments.

While he would much prefer it if neither woman ever became Regent, if he had to choose, he would prefer Anne. Katherine's family ties guaranteed that she would always support Imperial interests and Wolsey could expect to be dismissed from the court as soon as the reins of power were placed in her hands. Anne, on the other hand, favoured the idea of friendly Anglo-French relations and had no reason to care for the Emperor. She had also been responding fairly well to his overtures of friendship and there was some hope that he might be able to persuade her to allow him to continue his work if she became Regent. She would need his help in order to secure her hold on the country and to help preserve her son's inheritance and he credited her with being intelligent enough to see that.

In any case, even if he wanted to stop Henry placing power in Anne's hands, he knew better than to try to coax him when he had made up his mind, especially when it concerned Anne. Henry had not blamed him for the fact that he had not been able to deliver the annulment but if Anne wanted to, she was likely to be able to convince Henry that he was at fault, especially in her present condition, when he was more indulgent with her than ever, humouring her every whim for the sake of the child she carried.

It would have been foolish of him to do anything to antagonize her.

Not giving More a chance to argue or to try to persuade him to speak to Henry, he brushed past him without another word, leaving the other man standing dismayed in his wake.

* * *

**_2nd October 1529_ **

Anne's pregnancy was officially announced on the first Sunday of October, at Mass in the morning when, towards the end of the service, Wolsey called for prayers that God would send the Princess Consort a good hour and a strong son for England, a prince of the King's blood.

Henry's was one of the few heads not bowed in prayer; he looked up, scanning the rows of bowed heads, wanting to make sure that all of his courtiers were praying for this important cause. He was pleased to see that all of them had their heads bowed as Wolsey prayed, pleased to see that, whatever their feelings about Anne or about Katherine, they all understood how important it was for the whole country that his son should be born safe and healthy.

His gaze fell on the pew across the aisle from the one he and Anne occupied, where Katherine was sitting with Mary.

Although they attended separate services during the week, on Sundays, when the common people were allowed to attend the service in the royal chapel – sitting at the very back or standing to the side, not too close to the courtiers – it was necessary that Katherine should be present, for fear that it would be alleged that he was denying his so-called wife the rites of the Church. Strictly speaking, Katherine should have been sitting by his side in the royal pew but she had thankfully declined to demand that as her right, choosing instead to sit in a separate pew. Henry had invited Mary to sit with him and with Anne, as he did every Sunday, but so far, his daughter had opted to sit with her mother each time, refusing his invitations in no uncertain terms.

It was infuriating to see that his daughter was so much her mother's creature, so unwilling to see his side of the argument and to understand the truth. She was young, but not so young that she could not understand a great deal about the situation and she should have been able to recognize her illegitimacy and to understand that it was a great kindness on his part to allow her to continue to call herself a princess, and to be thankful for it.

There were times when he was very tempted to send for his obstinate daughter, telling her that if her conduct did not speedily improve, she would no longer be welcome at his court, that she would be sent away to the country, forbidden even to visit. He might have done it, had Anne not spoken on Mary's behalf, reasoning that the girl was young and that the situation was a very difficult one for her to accept, especially when she loved her mother so much. Mary had also been brought up believing herself to be the heiress to the throne and it was natural that she would resent the thought of losing that position.

When their son was born, when Mary realized that he would be the first rightful heir to the throne, Anne suggested that she would come to her senses and be better able to understand and accept the situation.

Henry hoped that she was right but he had his doubts.

Mary was not praying.

She made no attempt to conceal that fact, sitting bolt upright in the pew, with her arms folded defiantly across her chest and a scowl on her face as she looked straight at Wolsey, glaring at the cardinal as though he was a traitor, as though she considered it a betrayal on his part for him to be praying that the baby she viewed as her rival would be brought safely into the world, before peering around at the courtiers, angry to see that they were all praying.

When his daughter's eyes met his, Henry frowned reprovingly at her, hoping that the unspoken reprimand would be enough to convince Mary to abandon her stubborn ways and behave the way he expected a dutiful daughter to behave but she did not. She met his gaze fearlessly, knowing what he wanted from her and refusing to give in. When her gaze fell on Anne, her face contorted in a grimace of disgust, as though she was a particularly unpleasant specimen of vermin. Thankfully, Anne was absorbed in her prayers and did not see this.

The idea of sending for Lady Salisbury, Mary's governess, and ordering her to see to it that her charge was given a sound whipping to teach her better manners crossed his mind but he dismissed the idea, reasoning that Mary would only blame Anne if she was punished, refusing to see that her stepmother had nothing to do with it and that she had only herself and her own conduct to blame for it, and that it was likely that she was picking up her attitude from her mother and from her mother's ladies, sensing their dislike of Anne and wanting to please Katherine by emulating them.

Katherine was praying, with her head bowed and her rosary twined between her fingers but when she sensed his gaze upon her, she glanced up, a faint hint of dismay crossing her features when she saw Mary's stubborn pose.

She looked across the aisle to meet Henry's eyes for a moment, inclining her head ever so slightly in his direction before returning to her prayers.

Henry also bowed his head but he couldn't focus his thoughts on prayer, with thoughts of Katherine preying on his mind as he wondered whether she was praying that Anne would be safely delivered of a son in the spring or if she was hoping that she would fail, perhaps even dying in the attempt. At the back of his mind, he was aware of the fact that while Katherine would surely rather see their daughter as heir rather than a son of Anne's, she still claimed to care for him and, if that was the case, she would want him to have the son he needed.

Katherine's expression revealed nothing and it troubled him to think that he did not know whether she wished him ill or whether she might wish him well.


	8. Chapter Seven

**_17th December 1529_ **

Three of Anne's ladies-in-waiting were discreet, unobtrusive presences as they laid plates of fresh baked bread, fruit, meat, cheese and oatcakes in front of her and Henry before filling the goblets in front of them with wine for Henry and milk for Anne, as Dr Linacre had forbidden her to drink wine or ale after she entered her fifth month of pregnancy, for fear that the baby she carried would be overpowered if she did, born either an idiot or deformed in some way, while two others made the bed, all going about their duties quietly, trying to allow the illusion that the royal couple were alone.

"What do you have planned for today, sweetheart?" Henry asked, between mouthfuls of bread, smiling at her. "Nothing too tiring, I hope?" He added, with a concerned expression on his face. During the earlier months of her pregnancy, they had continued with their usual routine of riding out together in the morning and dancing in the evenings but over the past month or so, since her bump grew larger and she had to add panels to her gowns, Anne had had to stop, for the sake of the child she carried. Henry missed her company when he rode out, Brandon and Knivert's presence couldn't compensate for her absence, but he would never have wanted her to accompany him at her expense or at the expense of their son.

"Just some sewing." Anne told him, downing her milk with a grimace. Warm milk was far from being a favourite drink of hers but she couldn't deny that it was good for soothing the pangs of nausea that still caused her trouble on occasion, despite the fact that the worst of the morning sickness had passed a couple of months ago, before the baby quickened. "Cardinal Wolsey brought some silk yesterday, and some Belgian lace." She said, indicating the folded bolts of snow white cloth set on a side table with a nod of her head. Wolsey had paid a call on her to pay his respects, assuring her that he was continuing with his daily prayers for her safe delivery and the birth of a healthy prince, and he had presented her with the dainty materials with studied casualness, as though he was handing her a pocket handkerchief, knowing that she would be able to recognize the quality of the cloth and the value of his gift, deferentially mentioning that he had been sent the cloth by a silk merchant and had thought that it would be ideal for the prince's layette. "I want to make a christening robe and cap – it won't be long now before we need it."

"Just three more months." Henry agreed with a smile, leaning over to place a hand on the side of her belly as he kissed her. "But, sweetheart, there's already a christening robe; the one that we used when Mary was christened." It had also been used for the christening of his little son and namesake, the son Katherine had borne him but who had been snatched away so soon, before he had lived even a full month, but Henry shrank from mentioning his dead son in front of Anne, especially when she was carrying their own little prince, half-afraid that if he did, he would bring them bad luck and ill-wish their unborn child. " _She_ should still have it." He said with a frown, as though mentioning Katherine pained him. True to his resolve, he made a point of treating her with the courtesy she was due as his brother's widow, no more, but even so, it was impossible to forget that she was still in the palace, that she still occupied the Queen's rooms, rooms that she had no true right to, just as she had no right to the title that she continued to usurp, and that she still had the royal christening gown in her possession.

For a brief, absurd instant, Henry felt a surge of fury towards Katherine over the fact that she still kept the christening gown that Mary had worn locked away in a chest in her rooms instead of sending it to him or to Anne once she knew that they had a baby on the way.

It could be of no further use to her after all, now that she was far past the age of childbearing and now that he had ceased to visit her bed, he thought, determinedly suppressing the part of him that was touched by the thought that, despite everything that had happened between them over the past few years, despite the fact that she knew that if he had been able to arrange it, she would no longer be able to call herself his wife, Katherine still cherished the gown that had once clothed both their daughter and their short-lived son for their christenings and nurturing his feelings of anger towards her, the feeling that Katherine was being petty and spiteful for her stubborn insistence on clinging to the gown when she had no further use for it, deliberately depriving his son of it.

Anne pulled a face. Part of her wanted the christening gown, wanted for her son to be christened in the same gown that had been worn by the other royal children, to make certain that nobody would be able to say that her child was less royal than they were, and she was very tempted to say yes, to coax Henry to order Katherine to turn the gown over to her, knowing that he would never deny her if she asked it of him, but she found herself shaking her head instead. "No." She said quietly. Henry gave her a quizzical look and she combed her mind to find a reason why the idea should be objectionable. "I want our child to have a gown of his own." She said at last. "Not a cast-off."

Henry nodded, smiling at her and seeing the sense in her words. "You're right, sweetheart." He said, his agile mind seeking to frame his thoughts in a way that he found acceptable. "The Prince of Wales should be christened in a gown of his own – and you're so clever with your needle that I'm sure that you'll be able to create something truly remarkable, something to put that Spanish thing Mary wore in the shade. In any case," he added with a frown, "it wouldn't be fitting for the Prince of Wales to wear the bastards' cast-off."

Despite his knowledge of the fact that since his marriage to Katherine was truly invalid in the eyes of God, which meant that all of the children they had conceived were illegitimate, not just Mary, it still caused Henry pain to refer to his son, to the little prince whose birth had given him such joy and in whom he had taken such pride during the short weeks of his life, as a bastard rather than as a prince, but he sternly reminded himself that this was true, refusing to shrink from the thought or to make excuses. God had never intended that he and Katherine should be allowed to keep their son with them; the baby boy was given to them briefly and then snatched away as a message, to let them know that their union was a sinful one. Because they had failed to heed His warning, that painful message had had to be repeated, again and again...

Henry shook himself slightly, touching Anne's belly again, smiling when he felt the baby move, as if in response to his touch.

Those days were over now. He might not have been allowed to officially invalidate his so-called marriage to Katherine, as he had once hoped he would, or to make it plain to the world that, though he loved his daughter very much, she was a bastard and no true princess, but surely God would be able to understand that he had done as much as any man could possibly have done under such circumstances, faced with the odds that had been stacked against Henry when he tried to do the right thing and end what he knew to be no true union. God would see that he had forsaken Katherine's bed in favour of that of his true wife, God would see that he had heeded his warnings and that he now treated Katherine as his sister-in-law and nothing more in private. God would see that, and he would know that He no longer needed to visit such awful punishments on Henry to make His message plain. God would see that, and He would give him a son.

"Not long now." Henry said quietly, as much to himself as to Anne. "It won't be long now before we have our boy with us."

Anne tried to smile in response but it didn't reach her eyes and she couldn't force her tongue to repeat her husband's confident words. As soon as her pregnancy was confirmed, it seemed as though there was no possible doubt in Henry's mind, in her father's or in the minds of anybody who spoke to her about her condition, that the child would be the son and heir that all of England was waiting for her to produce, the son for whose safe arrival the whole court prayed for on a daily basis.

She didn't dare ask what would happen if the child was a girl.

* * *

Thomas Cromwell was a man who smiled only infrequently and even when he did, it was rare that any sign of mirth appeared in his eyes. The son of a blacksmith, he had risen from a humble background through his own intelligence and diligence, helped in no small part by the patronage of Cardinal Wolsey who, as a man born from obscure stock himself, had shown himself willing on more than one occasion to give other men a chance to advance in the world, valuing the men in his employment for their skill, their diligence and their loyalty rather than their background.

However, despite the fact that the cardinal praised his skill, putting him forward for the post as the King's secretary after Mr Pace had been removed from that post, an enviable promotion, Cromwell knew that his patron's favour would evaporate in an instant if Wolsey knew his views, if he was aware of the books he read or of the fact that he slipped away to secret meetings on a weekly basis, interacting with those who had read Luther's works and who saw the truth of his words, but he suspected that he would not need to worry about this much longer.

Lady Anne Boleyn, now the Princess Consort and, God willing, the mother of the future Prince of Wales, was also a woman with a keen interest in religious reform and, while Cromwell was not usually a man to take risks, he considered the chance he was taking by helping friends abroad send back books that they believed the lady might take an interest in to be well worth it. If the cause of the reformed religion was to succeed, then it would need powerful friends and there were few friends more powerful or more valuable to them than the Princess Consort... the woman who, in the eyes of a great many of those who embraced the reformed religion, the true faith, was also the rightful Queen of England, a role that had been usurped by Katherine of Aragon, who clung to it because of the might of her nephew and the weakness of the Bishop of Rome, the coward who dared to call himself the descendant of St. Peter, who dared to claim that he spoke for God.

The King trusted the Princess Consort. He had proven as much when he decided to choose her as Regent in the event of his death before his heir reached adulthood, a position that was guaranteed to her by Act of Parliament.

Nobody gave him a second glance as he walked through the corridors, a book tucked under one arm. His role as secretary to the King may have been one that enabled him to be among the first to know what it was that his master had planned, something that would make his friendship very valuable to those who sought the information he could give him but, warned by the fate of his unfortunate predecessor, Mr Pace, Cromwell had politely but firmly rejected all overtures of friendship from those who hoped to use him as a source of information about the King and his activities and plans, refusing any gifts of money, regardless of the identity of the would-be donor and the size of the sums he was offered, some of which were considerable. He was realistic enough to know that this would win him no friends at court but he was not foolish enough to put his position with the King, along with the opportunity that position would hopefully give him to do good for the reformed cause in the future, in jeopardy. Once it was known that he was not a man who was to be bought, people tended to keep their distance.

When he reached the Princess Consort's quarters, he was ushered into the suite of rooms by Nan Saville, who curtsied to Anne as she announced him. "Master Cromwell, Your Majesty."

"Master Cromwell." Anne set aside her sewing and rose from the low, cushioned couch on which she had been sitting to greet him, moving slightly awkwardly and steadying herself with a hand to the back of the couch. Her sister moved to support her but Anne halted her movements with a quick shake of the head, indicating that she and the other ladies should give them some privacy. Mary obeyed, ushering the other ladies into the next room and once they were gone, Anne extended her hand to him.

"Your Majesty," Cromwell bowed low over her hand before straightening.

"Did you bring a message from His Majesty?" Anne asked, assuming that this was why her husband's secretary would seek her out like this, even though he was not the usual person to be charged with such messages.

"No, but I have spoken with an acquaintance of mine, a Mr Cranmer – I believe that Your Majesty knows him?"

"Yes." Anne nodded. Cranmer was once chaplain to her family when her father was ambassador at the French court. He was a man she had always found to be intelligent, reasonable and gentle and a man of whom her father, never a man to be overly generous with his praise, had always spoken highly, recommending him as the best possible choice for her personal chaplain, a recommendation she agreed with wholeheartedly. "Has he accepted my invitation to come to court?"

"He has, Your Majesty, and most willingly." Cromwell hesitated a moment before continuing, knowing that once he made his move there could be no turning back. The Princess Consort's sympathies were known among the circle of reformers he frequented – the preacher had even led prayers of thanksgiving for the fact that, of all the young women at court and in England on whom the King's eye might have fallen, God had chosen to send Lady Anne to him, knowing that she would not consent to become his mistress, as so many other women would be happy to, and using her as the means to bring the truth to the King's attention – but he had not approached her directly before now, not like this. "I think we understand each other, Your Majesty," he began slowly. "A mutual friend, a Mr Fish, now living in exile in Holland has sent me a gift for you."

Her expression betrayed no hint of dismay at the mention of the name, one that was fairly well known among those who kept themselves well informed about the progress of the religious reformation, only faint surprise and curiosity over the fact that Cromwell had just spoken it. "What is it, Master Cromwell?"

" _The Obedience of the Christian Man_ by William Tyndale," he told her, passing the book into her hand. She accepted it calmly, although she was surely as aware as he was that the book was forbidden in England. Her husband had ordered it so, after all. "It contains many good criticisms of the papacy and of the arrogance and abuses of priests. You'll find it most illuminating." Anne nodded, absently fingering the smooth leather of the cover. "But always and ever, be cautious as to whom you show this," he warned her quietly. "You must know that it might be accounted heresy even to possess it – and Wolsey is still keen enough to prosecute heretics," he added, knowing that her opinion of the cardinal was not high, despite his many eager attempts to win her over once it became clear that the King intended to make her his wife, "as we are called, who embrace the true religion."

Although she was aware of the fact that even if he wanted to prosecute her for heresy, Wolsey would never dare to even suggest such a thing to Henry, who would take umbrage if he even hinted at it, Anne nodded. "I will." She promised. "And God bless you, Master Cromwell." It must have taken courage to dare to approach her with a forbidden book and Anne appreciated courage.

Cromwell didn't say anything else, he merely bowed and withdrew. As he left, Anne's ladies took that as their cue that they might return and they took up their places again, each of them stitching at a tiny garment intended for the coming child.

Anne returned to her chair, picking up her own needlework for a moment before setting it aside and opening the book instead, quickly becoming absorbed by Tyndale's words.

* * *

Although he was well aware of the fact that Wolsey shouldered a good deal of the burdens of government – perhaps more that he ought to be allowing one of his subjects to – there were times when it seemed to Henry that there simply weren't enough hours in the day to allow him to fulfil his duties as King, while at the same time giving him the time he wanted to concentrate on his own pursuits and pleasures.

When he first became King, as a boy of seventeen, he was glad to be free of a father who had been controlling in the extreme, especially after Arthur died, leaving him with only one living son and heir, and with hindsight, Henry could see that the sudden freedom had gone to his head, perhaps even more so than the power of the position he had inherited. He had been only too happy to allow Wolsey to be his proxy at meetings of the Privy Council, happy to leave arrangements in his chancellor's capable hands so that he could throw himself into the pursuits in which he delighted, but he was not a boy any longer. It was past time for him to assume more of the duties he had inherited rather than allowing them to be usurped by another, even a man as capable as Wolsey.

However, despite his private resolution not to continue to allow others to take the responsibilities of ruling England for themselves, there were times when it was very tempting to tell Wolsey or Norfolk or any of his councillors that he would be leaving certain matters in their hands, to trust that the other man would carry out his orders faithfully while he went out riding, or sought out Anne's company.

It was strange to think that he had managed to live for so many years without her, before he ever met her, when he only knew of her as the daughter of one of his ambassadors. Now, he found himself missing her even when he had been away from her side only a few hours. He had never felt this way before, with Katherine or with anybody else.

He breathed a small sigh of relief when he got to the last document in his pile; his signature was required on the bill drawn up for the Act of Regency, an act passed by Parliament, enshrining Anne's rights should the need arise and that would become law once he signed it, which he did without hesitation, relieved to know that he had ensured that Anne's position would be safeguarded and that he need have no fear that people who championed Katherine's cause might seek to wrest power on her behalf. God knows what would have happened to Anne if they managed that, if he was no longer around and able to protect her.

At that thought, he glanced up at More, irritated by the faint look of disapproval in the other man's eyes at the sight of the document, the significance of which he knew well and an Act that he fervently disagreed with. It annoyed Henry to no end that a man like Thomas More, who was in all other things a wise and learned man, was so stubborn that he had refused to see the justice of his case for the annulment of his false marriage to Katherine, that even now that Henry was properly married at last, persisted in speaking for Katherine instead of Anne.

Henry rose, crossing the room and taking a flat box made of mother of pearl and gilded with gold from the top of one of the tables, looking down at it for a moment. The goldsmith had delivered it this morning, showing him that the diamond necklace within, the one he had commissioned as a surprise for Anne last month, was even more beautiful that he had hoped, and he had intended to bring this to Anne himself when he joined her in her apartment for the noon meal, to surprise her. However, while he had finished with the papers brought to him for his attention, there was also a long line of petitioners awaiting audiences and it was unlikely that he would be able to get away to eat with his wife, not today.

His gaze fell on More again and an idea formed in his mind. It was past time for More to understand, once and for all, how the land lay. He needed to understand that although he might esteem Katherine, she was not truly Henry's wife or the Queen and that it was wrong for him or for anybody else to treat her as though she was. He needed to understand Anne's place, and to treat her with the respect and deference she was due.

"Sir Thomas," He motioned for the other man to stand and, when he did, he placed the box in his hands. "Please bring this to Her Majesty the Princess Consort, as a token of my affection, and give her my apologies, as I am unlikely to be able to join her to dine, not today."

"If Your Majesty wishes, I could receive the petitioners on your behalf..." Wolsey began eagerly but he was cut off by a decisive shake of the head from Henry.

"That is kind of you to offer, Your Eminence, but it will not be necessary." Henry responded firmly, tempted by the offer but not wanting to return to his old, careless habits. It was his responsibility to receive the petitioners and to hear their complaints; they came to see the King, not the cardinal. "Her Majesty understands that the cares of government must come first, and Sir Thomas will be able to explain to her why I am unable to join her."

"Yes, Your Majesty." More bowed stiffly, waiting for Henry to wave him away before he left the room, knowing exactly why this task had fallen to him.

Any page could have performed this errand, delivering both the message and the gift. Under other circumstances, it would not have been a task to be given to one of the King's councillors – in fact, it might be seen as insulting if they were asked to run a trivial errand like this, when there were hundreds of servants in the palace, any one of whom could have been charged with it – but Henry had wanted him to be the one to do it because he was well aware of the fact that he found the concept of his King taking a second wife to be repugnant, and of the fact that the Queen had his sympathy and support. This was his way of showing him that, while he might balk at the thought of Anne as a royal consort, much less the favoured one, there was nothing he could do about it.

He did not open the box as he carried it through the corridors, he didn't need to. He already knew that it was likely to be jewellery of some kind, something very expensive and beautifully wrought, the latest in a long line of similar tokens showered on this woman, both before the marriage and since. Katherine needed no jewels, nor did she hope for them. The greatest boon she could ask for would be that her husband would deign to tear himself away from his second wife long enough to grant her a few hours of his time, so that they might dine together for once, and talk together as they used to, perhaps listening to their beloved daughter performing for them on the lute, which she played with remarkable skill for a child of her tender years.

Anne was Henry's wife according to canon and secular law and therefore More would not deny her that position but he felt that if Henry had to take two wives, courtesy and justice both demanded that equal treatment should be meted out to each wife, with Henry dividing his time between Katherine's bed and board and Anne's, instead of devoting himself to Anne as completely as he did while he ignored Katherine. Even if he did think that she was not truly his wife, if his insistence that she was not and that their marriage was accursed really did come from his conscience and not from a desire to take Anne as his wife if he could have her no other way, Henry's behaviour towards her was a poor payment for Katherine's long years of devotion to him, and to his people who loved their Queen, with good reason.

He had never visited the Princess Consort's apartment before today, and had never had any desire to do so but he needed no help in finding his way there. Even before the wedding, it was known throughout the court that, unlike the Queen's rooms, which were a considerable distance away from the King's, the suite of rooms that Anne was to occupy once they were married directly adjoined Henry's, just as it was known that since the wedding, Henry had not slept in his own bed for even one night.

A lady he recognized as Anne's older sister greeted him politely when she opened the door to admit him, ushering him into the largest chamber, the day room where Anne and her ladies were gathered. The ladies-in-waiting were all hard at work, each stitching away at a garment intended for the baby's layette, while their mistress reclined on a low couch by the window, propped up with a large silken pillow, one hand resting protectively on the swell of her abdomen, as though to shelter the child she carried, while she held a book in the other hand, deeply absorbed in it, so absorbed that she did not seem to hear her sister when she announced the identity of the visitor.

Nodding his thanks to Lady Mary Carey, More took a couple of steps closer to Anne, clearing his throat to draw attention to his presence. The noise must have startled her; her head sprang up and the book she was holding slipped from her fingers, tumbling to the floor with a crack as the leather binding made contact with the wood. Anne moved to retrieve it but More hurried to pick it up for her.

"Allow me, Your Majesty," he said kindly. He might not like her but, given her condition, he would never have dreamed of refusing to lend his assistance. He was ready to hand her back the book but something about her suddenly stiffened posture made him uneasy and he glanced down at the book in his hand, a frown creasing his brow when he read the title. " _The Obedience of the Christian Man_." He read it aloud, looking first at Anne, whose expression betrayed no hint of guilt, merely irritation towards himself, and then at her ladies, who looked uncomfortable, all of them knowing the significance of the title. He returned his attention to Anne, wondering if she had the slightest comprehension of the danger of exploring such material, if she knew of the damage that she was doing to herself by exposing herself to these heretical ideas. "By William Tyndale, I believe?"

"Yes." Anne met his gaze fearlessly, extending her hand for her book but he did not return it to her.

"You are aware that this book, like all of Tyndale's, is forbidden in this country, are you not, Your Majesty?" He asked pointedly, desperately hoping to see some sign of contrition from her, some sign that she was aware of how deeply she had erred but seeing nothing of the kind. "This is heresy, madam, and nobody in England may possess a copy – even you are not above that law. Men have been imprisoned for having works like these in their possession, did you know this?" He demanded impatiently, wondering what could possibly have possessed her to obtain a copy of a book that she knew to be forbidden... and if this was the first time that she had done so. "Are there others?" He waved the book at her for emphasis. "Have you more of this heretical nonsense in your rooms?" His tone came out sharper than he had intended and Anne took umbrage at this.

"If I did, it would not be _your_ concern, Sir Thomas." She responded in her chilliest tone, her blue eyes icy as they met his. "You forget yourself."

"Madam..."

"I'll thank you to return my book now." She cut in firmly, freezing him with a look.

Had the choice been his, More would not have given her the book. Had he been a braver man, he might even have cast the wretched thing on the fire, burning it as it, and others like it, should be burned, but he knew better than to do such a thing. He was a mere knight – and that title was only recently his – and even though he acted as an advisor of the King's, he did not have the authority to confiscate the property of the Princess Consort, under any circumstances.

Only the King himself had the authority to chide her, not his subjects, regardless of their position.

He placed the book in her hand, quickly backing out of the room, hastening away, not even sure where he was going, or who he should speak to about this.

Under other circumstances, if it was anybody else whom he had caught with one of these books in their possession, he would have gone to Cardinal Wolsey who, despite the fact that his relationship with the King had been considerably cooler since the cardinal had failed to deliver the promised annulment, placing a barrier between Anne Boleyn and the Queen's crown and obliging the King to accept the pope's compromise, still had a great deal of influence over Henry.

However, although More believed that Wolsey was a sound churchman, a devout man who understood the danger posed by works such as Tyndale's all too well, he considered him to be far too soft on the so-called reformers, the men – and women too – who spread the forbidden material in secret and met under cover of darkness. As well as that, it was well known throughout the court that Wolsey hoped to ingratiate himself with Anne, sending her gifts and doing his utmost to show her the same deference that he would have shown her if she was Queen, even shunning Katherine sometimes and treating her coolly in public in order to highlight the fact that he sided with Anne.

Like all those at court, Wolsey had been faced with the choice of siding with either Queen Katherine or with the new Princess Consort and he had chosen the latter without hesitation, seeing in her both the promise of a healthy son and heir for England and somebody who, unlike the Spanish-born Katherine, shared his desire for warmer relations with France. As well as that, nobody could deny that despite the fact that the King and Queen had been married for so many years, despite the fact that she was the mother of his first living child, the King never sought out her company these days, devoting himself to Anne, whom he insisted was his only true wife. Those who hoped to have the King's favour needed to show that they were on his side and Anne's, and Wolsey was well aware of that fact.

The possibility that he might choose to turn a blind eye to Anne's offence in the hope of winning her gratitude by keeping her secret could not be discounted.

He couldn't tell Wolsey.

He had not planned it but it seemed as though his feet had a mind of their own, they carried him through the corridors, weaving through the courtiers milling through the hallways and bringing him the door of the Queen's quarters.

Katherine rose when he was ushered into her quarters, greeting him kindly and offering him her hand to kiss. One look at the sombre expression on his face and she indicated that her ladies should withdraw to the next room, giving them privacy to speak amongst themselves. Strictly speaking, her position demanded that she should be chaperoned but her ladies would not be far away and even if they were left entirely alone, nobody would ever view a suggestion of impropriety between them with anything other than ridicule, their reputations ensured this.

Once her ladies had departed, she sat down in front of the fire, indicating that he should sit down opposite her. "What is it, Sir Thomas?" She asked quietly, troubled by the expression on his face and remembering another time when he had arrived in her rooms, looking very much as he did now. That day, he brought her the news that Henry was marrying Anne, that she was to be spared the indignity of her marriage being annulled, of being cast aside like a worn shoe and forced to watch another woman take her place as Queen, but that the price for that was that she would be forced to share her husband with another woman, whose children would be legitimate and whose sons would supplant Mary as heirs. Thinking of Mary brought another concern to mind; Henry had accepted the deal offered by the pope with misgivings, she knew that, just as she knew that he refused to acknowledge that she was truly his wife and professed to believe that their daughter was illegitimate in everything but name. Now that Anne's pregnancy was progressing well and he could expect their first child in the spring, had Henry decided to revisit the issue of Mary's status, to see if he could have her declared a bastard after all, despite everything? "My daughter..."

"No, Your Majesty, it is not Princess Mary that I must speak to you about." More assured her automatically, glancing down at his hands and realizing, for the first time since he left Anne's rooms, that he had not given her Henry's gift, or delivered the message he had been charged to deliver. Katherine noticed the box too and More thought that it was indicative of the sorry state of affairs where the King's marriages were concerned that she clearly knew better than to assume that it was a gift for her. "I... the King sent me to the Princess Consort with this and I..."

Katherine sighed inwardly. "What has she done now?"

* * *

This wasn't what she wanted to happen.

She _had_ intended that she would eventually bring _The Obedience of the Christian Man_ , and other books like it, to Henry's attention some day, not long from now, and she knew him well enough to be confident that some of the sentiments expressed in the book were ones that were likely to appeal to him, but not now. Not yet.

Tyndale's works were forbidden in England, just as Luther's were. To be caught with a copy of one of their books in one's possession was not an offence punishable by burning at the stake, as it was in some other countries, but it could lead to heavy fines for those who could pay them and imprisonment for those who could not, while any book seller found selling these books, or those like it, would be shut down very quickly, and the books would be burned. It wasn't that long ago that Henry had written a pamphlet defending the papacy from Luther, or since he had ordered More to seize all of Luther's works he could find and burn them. Was he ready to be able to listen to her if she urged him to read them for himself, to allow himself to take an interest in them and to consider the ideas they contained or was it too soon? Would he dismiss them completely, without even considering them?

Either way, it didn't matter. If he didn't know already, he would know soon enough.

There was no doubt in Anne's mind that More was going to run straight to her husband, bearing tales about her reading material, eager to tell him that she was reading books that he had ordered forbidden. Everybody knew that he was Katherine's man; he would leap at the chance to be able to drive a wedge between Anne and Henry if he thought that by doing so he could encourage Henry to once again grow closer to Katherine. Henry liked More and trusted him, she knew that, but were they close enough for More to be able to hope to turn Henry against her, even slightly?

She wished that she could know for certain.

"Anne..." Mary tried to halt her sister's movements as she paced back and forth. The other ladies were troubled by what was happening but none of them dared to remonstrate with Anne, not in her present mood. "You're as white as a sheet! Sit down, please, and rest. You're not going to do yourself any good if you let yourself get so upset. You need to be calm – for _both_ your sakes." She added, glancing down at the bump that was visible under the heavy silk of her sister's gown and shuddering inwardly at the thought of the unborn prince being infected by his mother's anxiety and restlessness, perhaps harmed by it. She found herself wishing that their father was there, knowing that he would have known what to do and perhaps been better able to calm Anne than she was but he had been sent on a mission to visit King Francis earlier in the week and she did not trust her uncle enough to seek his advice on this matter, especially since he was a staunch Catholic and likely to be almost as shocked by Anne's choice of reading material as Thomas More had been. "Why don't I send somebody with a message for the King, telling him that you need to see him? you can explain to him what's happened." She suggested, thinking that it might be better for Anne to confront the issue head-on and appeal to the King directly. He was unlikely to be able to refuse if she did. "He won't be able to be angry with you, I'm sure of it, not over this or anything else. Just talk to him, maybe you'll even be able to speak to him before Sir Thomas does."

"Your Majesty?" Nan Saville spoke up timidly, holding out a steaming goblet of hot milk.

Anne's stomach churned at the smell of it and she shook her head decisively. "No, thank you, Nan." She said, her tone brooking no argument.

"Maybe you should," Mary suggested kindly, trying to draw her sister over to the couch and to get her to sit down. "You might feel calmer once you drink it."

"I don't want it!"

"You don't want what, sweetheart? I can't stay long, I'm afraid, but I was able to escape for a minute and I wanted to see how you..." Henry's cheerful smile vanished from his face when he saw Anne's pale face and the anxious expression on her face. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" He asked urgently, crossing the room in a few strides and taking her into his arms, worried. "You're not feeling sick, are you? The baby..." his heart thudded anxiously in his chest at the thought that something might have happened to their son, but surely if that had been the case, one of Anne's ladies would have had the sense to send for Dr Linacre, or at least for a midwife. He guided her over to the couch, gently pushing her down to sit on it, keeping an arm around her shoulders.

"I'm not sick, and the baby's fine." Anne assured him, feeling a little surer of herself given Henry's obvious concern.

"Then what is going on here?" He asked, addressing the question to all present and waiting for somebody to tell him what was going on. "Did something happen to upset you? Has somebody done something that made you unhappy – who has visited today?" He asked Mary directly, feeling ready to throttle whoever it was who had been so inconsiderate as to upset his wife like this, especially in her condition.

"Only Sir Thomas More, Your Majesty." She responded with a curtsey.

"I see." Henry said, in a grim tone that did not bode well for More. He turned back to Anne, taking her hands in his. "What did he do to you, sweetheart? You must tell me, please!"

"We had an argument over one of my books," Anne began to explain, taking care when it came to choosing her words, but she was immediately cut off by Henry's furious question.

"Are you telling me that he upset you like this over a _book_?" He demanded. When he got his hands on More... "What was he thinking!"

Anne leaned closer to him, inwardly debating about how much or how little she should say but her instincts prompted her to lay her cards on the table, knowing that it would be better to come clean now, when Henry's anger was directed at another and he was so protective towards her, rather than being caught in a lie later. "I have a confession to make." She said quietly.

"What is it, sweetheart?" He asked gently, smiling encouragingly when he saw her reluctance to speak. "It can't be as bad as all that."

For answer, she lifted her book from a side table, placing it in his hand. Henry raised his eyebrow at the title but she spoke before he could. "I think that there are certain passages in the book that you would find very interesting." She said, opening a page she had marked with a piece of ribbon and watching as Henry glanced over the paragraph she had drawn a line down the side of with her fingernail. "Sir Thomas was angry when he saw it," she explained apologetically. "I think that he was worried about what was written in it once he read the title but there's nothing for him – or anybody else – to be alarmed about. If he'd stopped to read it, he'd know that." She rested her head against his shoulder, looking up at him with appealing blue eyes. "You will read it, won't you? Before making up your mind about it?"

Henry smiled indulgently, relieved to see that she was calmer now. "Alright, sweetheart." He promised; the passage he glanced over had looked interesting, after all, and if there was some danger in the book, it would only be a threat if it found its way into the hands of somebody without the intelligence or education to truly understand it, somebody who would misunderstand it or take it at face value without exploring it more thoroughly. It certainly posed no danger to _him_. "I'll look at it if you want me to but on one condition."

"What?" Anne asked, hoping that he wouldn't ask her to name the person who had brought her the book. She didn't want to name Cromwell but she also didn't want to lie to Henry.

"I want you to drink the milk that Mistress Saville has for you," Henry instructed, motioning for Nan to bring the goblet over. The milk had cooled a little but it was still warm. "And then I want you to lie down and rest for an hour or so." While Anne looked better now, he had been frightened when he first saw her so pale and anxious and was still a little worried. He'd feel much happier if she rested for a while. "I want you to promise me that you'll take care of the two most important people in England; you" he leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, before bending down to kiss her belly. "And our son."

"I will." Anne promised, touched by his concern for her and for their unborn child.

"Good." Henry kissed her once more, taking the goblet of milk from Nan and passing it to Anne. "I'll come and see you a little later." He promised.

In the meantime, he needed to speak to More...

* * *

Although he had been agitated when he arrived at Katherine's rooms, More found that after speaking his piece, explaining what he had seen when he went to visit Anne and why he feared it so much, he felt calmer, and when Katherine quietly asked him whether he had come to seek her advice, he agreed at once, glad to listen to whatever counsel she could offer.

"You need to return to her rooms straight away, apologize for offending her and ask if this incident can be forgotten." Katherine told him in a calm, even tone. "And you need to pray that she is willing to accept." Seeing that More was ready to voice his objection to what she was proposing, she continued. "You can't take the chance that she will tell Henry about what happened. He will side with her." There was no doubt in her mind about that.

It was on the tip of More's tongue to point out that it was only a few years since Henry had earned the title of Defender of the Faith by writing against books like the one in Anne's possession... but it was also not many years since Henry had been Katherine's loving, devoted husband, priding himself on riding in jousts as her champion. Now he was utterly devoted to Anne, all but worshipping the ground she walked on. They couldn't rely on Henry's previous attitude towards the reformers, not now. "But the book she had... if she has others like it..."

"I imagine that she does." Seeing the expression on More's face, Katherine smiled faintly. "You think this comes as a surprise to me, Sir Thomas?" She asked wryly. "I have suspected that the Princess Consort had an interest in the reformers for a long time now, since one of my ladies mentioned that she kept a copy of the English Bible in her apartment. Her Latin is proficient enough for her not to need an English translation, so she must have had another reason to want it. It has also been said that Lord Wiltshire sympathizes with the reformers, so it would not surprise me if he taught his daughter to share his attitude."

"You have never said anything about it before now." More protested, wondering whether Henry might have rethought his insistence on naming Anne as Regent, should the need for one arise, had he known what she was hiding. Perhaps if he had found out early enough, he might not have wanted to marry her in the first place, looking to another woman instead if he had to stray from his marriage bed, one who would have been content to be his mistress, saving them all of the trouble and the pain that Henry's desire for Anne had caused.

"Because saying something would only have made matters worse. What she reads is her concern but the last thing we want is for her to decide to show those books to Henry." Katherine knew very little about what it was the Luther, and those who shared his beliefs preached and she had no desire to explore the issue further but she had heard certain things about some of the ideas they held, and could guess that those ideas would appeal to Henry, and that it could be dangerous if he espoused them.

"Why hasn't she?" More asked, puzzled by this. Anne was surely well aware of the influence that she could have on Henry if she wanted to. Now that Katherine had mentioned the possibility, he was very glad that she hadn't shown him the book but he was beginning to wonder why she hadn't.

"I imagine that she wants to wait until she feels that it is absolutely safe for her to do so." Katherine said, a lump forming in her throat at the thought that there was a good chance that Anne might feel that way within a matter of months. If she could give Henry the son he craved, he would deny her nothing and no matter what she said or did, he would indulge her.

"But if the King..." More didn't need to continue. He knew that they both knew what was at stake. If the King himself took an interest in Lutheran literature, if he read their ideas and found them to be to his liking, then it would not be long before every heretic in the country was given free reign to swan about unchecked, and with no need to keep their activities a secret, they would be able to spread their ideas more freely, not having to take the same precautions to ensure that they would not be caught and punished for them.

"I know." Katherine said quietly. Once, she would have said that no matter how infatuated he was with any woman, Henry would never have taken the step of reading heretical books for her sake, or condoning her doing so but not now. She was not blind, nor was she stupid. She was well aware of the fact that Henry was angry that he had not been granted the annulment he craved when he wanted it, she knew Henry well enough to know that as far as he was concerned, he was _owed_ the annulment he sought after the way he had defended the papacy against Luther and that he would feel cheated that he had not been given what he wanted. With his patience with the pope at a low ebb, he would be far more willing to be open to the Lutheran ideas than he would have been under other circumstances. If so, he would put his immortal soul in jeopardy and, as he was King, he might drag the whole country down the path of heresy with him.

The thought frightened her more than she could say.

For several minutes, an uncomfortable silence stretched between them, neither of them wanting to voice their thoughts.

They heard Henry before they saw him.

He bellowed angrily for the people in the corridors to make way for him, demanding to know whether More was within. Clearly somebody had answered in the affirmative, because a moment later he was storming into the apartment, his face twisted in an angry scowl as he glared, first at More and then at Katherine.

"I might have known that I would find you here." He snapped at More, his fists clenching by his sides, his knuckles white, as though it was taking a great effort on his part to refrain from striking the other man, before he turned to look at Katherine. "Has Sir Thomas been telling you all about it? About the way he upset my wife – and in her condition too!" If he noticed Katherine's slight flinch at the mention of Anne's condition, a condition she would dearly have loved to be in herself, he didn't give any sign of it. "And over a book!"

"Did she..."

"She showed it to me." Henry said, before More could finish voicing the question. "And I have given my word that I will read it myself – it looks to be a most illuminating book."

"I see." More said quietly, knowing better than to argue, to point out that the book was forbidden and that even Anne had no right to have one in her possession, despite her position. If she had already told Henry about it and if he was angry with More for his reaction rather than with Anne for having the book in the first place, if she had managed to persuade him to read the book himself, then there was no point. Arguing would only serve to make Henry angrier than he already was and that wouldn't help anybody.

Henry stomped back and forth, his tread heavy, as though he wanted to break through the floorboards with his foot. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the jewel case sitting on Katherine's side table, whirling around to glare at More again, an accusing look in his eyes.

"You were to deliver this to my wife – my _true_ wife." He added, with a poisonous glare for Katherine and a pointed stress on the word 'true', well aware of the pain his words would cause her and not caring if it hurt her. "Did you misunderstand my instructions? I should have thought that I made my meaning plain enough for even a simpleton to understand what I wished him to do." Without waiting for a response, he snatched up the box, tucking it under one arm. "We will speak of this again, Sir Thomas." He said coldly, with a quick glance towards Katherine before returning his attention to More. "Privately." He added, his tone leaving no doubt that the conversation would not be a pleasant one for the other man.

He stalked out of the room then, leaving the other two silent and uncomfortable in his wake.

After a long silence, More finally spoke. "What now?"

Katherine's expression was compassionate but her voice was firm when she responded. "Apologize to the King and, more importantly, to the Princess Consort for what happened today. If you can, go to her and try to persuade her to forgive you. At the very least, Henry will be glad to know that you have tried but it will be better if she is no longer angry with you when he next speaks to you."

"Angry with me?" More asked incredulously. "Why should she be angry? She got her way, didn't she? The King sided with her, as you said he would." If anything, Anne should be _thanking_ him; their confrontation over the wretched book had led to Henry agreeing to read it, just to please her.

Katherine smiled sadly, guessing what must have been in Anne's mind when More caught her with the book in her possession, and knowing that, no matter how confident she was of her position in Henry's affections, she couldn't have been sure of his reaction, not over something like this. She had to have been worried, and angry with the man who had caused her that worry.

"You forced her hand, Sir Thomas." She said quietly. "It may have turned out well, but that does not mean that she will not be angry about it, and if she is angry with you, the King will be angry with you also. You will need to make your peace with her first, and then Henry will forgive you, I am sure of it." Henry had always thought highly of More, craving his respect and his approval – so much so that she was certain that at least some of the anger he was feeling now stemmed from a feeling of disappointment over the fact that More didn't like Anne, as he wanted him to. If this issue could be settled, then she knew that Henry would be happy to welcome More as a friend once more.

More frowned at her words. He valued Henry's friendship and his trust, just as he valued the opportunity to guide the younger man, whom he believed to possess many of the qualities of a truly great ruler but not the self-discipline to truly be able to be the King he should be, but was it really worth the sacrifice of principle? The thought of following in the footsteps of Wolsey and others like him, who beat a path to Anne's door, fawning over her and courting her favour in the hopes that her good opinion of them would increase their standing in Henry's favour, was a galling one. How could he pretend to approve of her or of the ideas she seemingly championed, no matter what the reward for that was? How could he betray Katherine like that?

"You must not think that you will be betraying me if you are able to make peace with her – or that you will be helping me if you refuse to do so." Katherine told him firmly, needing him to see the truth in her words and to understand that, while she was touched by his loyalty to her, it would do them both more harm than good if Henry felt that More was on her side rather than his. She laid a gentle hand on his, forcing herself to smile encouragingly. "If you want to be able to help me, or to help Princess Mary, then you will need to enjoy the King's trust and favour... and for that, you will need her good opinion. You cannot afford for her to count you as an enemy, not if you want to be able to do anything to help either of us."


	9. Chapter Eight

**_19th December 1529_ **

Despite her initial fears about revealing her interest in Lutheran books to Henry, once she handed him her copy of Tyndale's book, Anne soon learned that she had worried needlessly.

Henry was utterly absorbed by the book, unable to put it down. He had spent much of the previous day in her apartment, leaving Wolsey to tackle his other tasks, poring over the book, paying particular attention to the passages she had marked with her fingernail, knowing that the sentiments expressed within them were ones that were likely to interest him and to appeal to him. He had a great interest in both literature and theology – had he joined the clergy, the destiny his father had intended for him until the death of his elder brother had altered those plans, Anne could imagine that he would have devoted a great deal of time to study and perhaps written a book of his own – and he was fascinated by Tyndale's ideas.

Anne had dismissed most of her ladies for the afternoon, instructing them to take advantage of the fact that, while it was cold and frosty outside, it was dry and fresh at least and to go for a walk in the gardens. Her ladies had all been well warned not to breathe a word about Tyndale's book, both by Anne and by Henry, so she didn't think that she needed to keep them at close quarters in order to ensure their discretion.

Most of them were either her own kin or else they were related to people who were loyal to her cause. Their positions and their futures were tied to hers since the more secure she was, the more she would be able to do for her attendants, and she knew that none of them would be foolish enough to betray her to her enemies, especially when betraying her would also mean betraying the King, something that was likely to result in their banishment from the court, if not worse.

Pleased to see Henry so absorbed by the book, to know that his interest was genuine, not just feigned in order to please her, Anne was quiet as he read, speaking only when he asked her opinion on a particular passage, both of them enjoying the good-natured debate over some of the questions Tyndale raised. She spent most of the morning sewing, crafting the christening gown that would clothe her son in the spring and imagining what it would be like to see all of the courtiers fawning over a baby boy born from her womb, deferring to her little one as their future monarch.

Would he look more like Henry or like her, or would he take after one of his other ancestors, past Kings of England?

Anne only hoped that he wouldn't take after his paternal grandfather. There were not many portraits of Henry the Seventh in the palace; by all accounts, the late king had never been fond of sitting for portraits, deeming it to be a waste of time that would be better spent on the duties of kingship, but the few portraits they had were hung in prominent places, reminders of the first Tudor King, the man who had won the crown during the Battle of Bosworth and held it, against the odds, and Anne sometimes felt a shiver of apprehension when she looked at them, thinking that if he was half as stern as he looked to be in his portraits, he must have been a formidable father and monarch and she was rather relieved that she had been too young to come to court during her father-in-law's lifetime.

The sky was grey outside and the light in the room became poor, too poor for Anne to continue sewing the christening gown, for fear that she would make a careless mistake that would need to be unpicked, spoiling the cloth. The gown had to be perfect in every way if it was to clothe her child on his first public appearance, after all. She turned her attention instead to the list of gifts she had ordered, to be distributed among her relatives, both by blood and by marriage, her ladies and servants and favoured courtiers. Most of the gifts had arrived by now, with Anne and her ladies almost drowning in the finery delivered to her apartment for her inspection, but there were still some left to come, including those she had ordered for the Princesses Mary and Margaret.

Her sister-in-law was still banished from the court. Henry insisted that once Margaret apologized for her behaviour during the reception for the French ambassador, he would be pleased to welcome her back to his court but until then, her banishment would continue, even though she was his sister and a Tudor princess by birth. He was not prepared to tolerate behaviour like that, even from his own kin.

Anne could imagine how disgusted the other woman would be when she received the ruby necklace she had chosen for her, together with the silver rattle she selected as baby Edward's Christmas gift but what Margaret chose to do with them was her affair. For all Anne cared, she could give or throw them away. It would be her loss and nobody else's.

She traced the design for the gold and pearl headdress she had ordered made as her Christmas gift for Princess Mary, fashioned after a design by Holbein, wondering whether it would be accepted or if it would be set aside, with its owner refusing to wear anything Anne gave her.

Anne didn't regret that she had married Henry. She was happy that she could be married to the man she loved, the man who would have made her his Queen if he was allowed the opportunity to do so and happy to know that her children would be born legitimate, heirs to the English throne if they were sons and wives to the Kings and princes of Europe if they were daughters and she wouldn't change that, even if she was given the opportunity to go back in time and refuse Henry's offer of marriage, to insist that she was content to simply be his _maitresse en titre_ and to look no higher. However, she _did_ regret the fact that Princess Mary was finding it so difficult to adjust to the new situation.

It was understandable. For the first ten years of her life, the young girl had been brought up believing that she would be the heir to the throne, unless Katherine managed to produce a brother for her and, once it became evident that this would not happen, Mary must have believed her succession to be inevitable, and looked forward to the prospect of being Queen one day, as most girls in her position would have. Certainly the fact that Henry named his daughter Princess of Wales, sending her to Ludlow Castle with a royal household, indicated that he had accepted her as his heiress and that he wished for her to be honoured as such.

Then came the shock of learning that her father doubted the validity of his marriage to her mother and, by extension, that he believed his daughter to be illegitimate. Faced with the prospect of being downgraded from Princess of Wales to royal bastard, stripped of royal honours and privileges, it was hardly surprising that the girl would side with her mother and refuse to see the truth of her father's case. She was only a child and it was to be expected that she would balk at the idea of losing the rights she had been born to and that she enjoyed during her childhood, and that she would resent those she blamed for her father turning away from her mother.

Even though she knew that Henry was unhappy over the fact that he had been forced to keep Katherine as his wife – something that Anne was far from pleased about herself – and that he would much rather find a way to name his daughter a bastard rather than continuing to live a lie by according her the dues of a legitimate princess, if it was at all possible for him to be able to do so without incurring the wrath of Mary's cousin, the Emperor, Anne did not think that this was a good idea. Under their present circumstances, nobody could deny the legitimacy of any children she bore, nor could they deny that it would be her sons' right to be placed ahead of Mary in the line of succession, even if her daughters had to be placed behind her, but Mary was quite popular with the people and if there was an attempt made to disinherit her, it was likely to rouse the anger of the people, who would resent the idea of the girl they had bent the knee to as a princess for so long being named as a bastard and stripped of her royal status. They might even reject the baby prince when he arrived, refusing to accept him as legitimate if his half-sister was to be called a bastard, which might even lead to a civil war between the two heirs when Henry died.

It was far better to keep Mary as a princess than to risk the position of the future prince.

However, despite the fact that she was to be permitted to retain her status as a princess, Mary had to be unhappy about the prospect of Anne producing a baby half-brother for her – and even if the child Anne now carried turned out to be a girl, the next would surely be a boy – knowing that from the moment of his birth, he would supplant her as heir to the throne, even though he would be her junior by twelve years, at least. Would she become reconciled to the idea once the baby was born, the pleasure of being an older sister at last compensating her for the fact that she was no longer heir to the throne, or would she resent the baby, hating him for his sex and for the fact that he was not his mother's son?

The baby stirred within her and Anne laid a gentle hand over the swell of her stomach, wondering if her son could sense her agitation and if he was troubled by it. She caressed her belly, as though to soothe the child within, to reassure him that he had no need to worry and that his half-sister would eventually come to love him, even if she was cold towards him at first but even she wasn't fully convinced of that.

And Mary would not be the only one who would be unhappy if Anne produced a boy.

Anybody who supported Katherine and who wished to see her child as the heir to the throne would be praying that the child Anne carried would be born female, perhaps even hoping that if all she could manage to present him with next spring was another girl, Henry would tire of her and seek to set her aside, that he would come to believe that it was folly on his part to seek to end his marriage to Katherine or to want any heir save Mary.

They would be very disappointed if she bore Henry a strong son in March.

She caressed her belly again, wondering how her son would feel when he was born, and if he would be able to sense that, even though most people would have the sense to be pleased to know that there was now a Prince of Wales to be heir to the throne, there were others who would be unhappy, even angry that he had been born male, hating her innocent baby for the fact that he would supplant his sister, that because he was male, the great-great-grandson of a London merchant would take precedence over the granddaughter of Ferdinand and Isabella.

The baby kicked gently against her abdomen, as though to reassure her that he was strong, too strong to allow himself to be hurt by the fact that there were some foolish people who would not rejoice over his birth.

She prayed that he would be able to steel himself to ignore any whispers and slights because it was likely that his welcome would not be a universal one and, once he was only enough to understand that his parents' marital circumstances were unusual, to say the least, he would have questions, questions that Anne didn't know how to answer.

"Listen to this, sweetheart." Henry's eager voice intruded on her thoughts as he read a passage that had caught his attention aloud. "'This belief that the pope and the clergy possess separate power and authority is contrary to Scripture. The King is the representative of God on Earth and his law is God's law. The ruler is accountable to God alone and the obedience of his subjects is an obedience required by God. For the Church and the pope to rule the Princes of Europe is not only a shame above all shames but an inversion of the divine order. One King and one law in God's name in every realm.'" He shut the book, waving it for emphasis. "This book is a book for me, and for all kings." He declared, agreeing with the sentiments Tyndale had expressed wholeheartedly. He stroked the leather cover with one finger. "And _this_ is forbidden?" He remarked, wondering how he could have been so foolish as to ban a book without reading it first, so that he might determine for himself whether or not its contents were truly harmful or whether his people might benefit from reading them.

Anne considered her words carefully before speaking, keeping her tone light and knowing that she would be better off treading slowly and carefully rather than speaking against the cardinal too vehemently and too openly, at least for the time being. Henry still called the man his friend, after all, and he badly wanted for his wife and his closest councillor to be friends. "I suppose that Cardinal Wolsey believed it to be dangerous," she remarked noncommittally. "And I know that More believes it to be."

Henry frowned at the mention of More. "Sir Thomas _did_ apologize to you, didn't he, my darling?" He asked, his frown relaxing slightly when Anne nodded confirmation. Had Anne answered in the negative, More would soon have found himself facing Henry's displeasure, both for upsetting Anne two days ago and for failing to tender his apologies and ask her pardon for doing so since then. "Good."

Henry was not insensible to the enormity of what he had done when he promised Anne that he would read the book.

Tyndale was proposing that the King should be both the temporal and the spiritual leader of his people, responsible for their souls as well as their bodies and holding absolute authority over secular and ecclesiastical matters, but if the King was to be head of the Church within his own kingdom, then that was a complete denial of papal authority, the same papal authority that he had written a pamphlet in support of, and not many years ago… although it had done him little good.

Henry frowned, still angry over the way Clement had failed to do the one thing he asked of him, despite the way he had defended the papacy so ably and so eloquently when it came under threat by Luther. All he had asked of the pope was that he be granted an annulment, that his cursed, sinful marriage should be set aside, freeing him to make a true marriage and father the legitimate son and heir that his country needed but Clement refused to do even that much for him, choosing instead to side with the Emperor and refuse to rule against the marriage of Charles' aunt. He was free enough with his titles, Henry granted him that much, but although he was proud to be designated 'Defender of the Faith' – and God knew that it was no more than he deserved, given that this was exactly what he had done – he would gladly have resigned that title if it meant that the pope would grant him his annulment.

Of course, if the King was the _true_ head of the Church within his country, and Tyndale certainly made a strong and convincing argument for why this should be the case, then he would not need to rely on the pope to grant him an annulment, especially when the pope would be ruled by his fear of the Emperor rather than a desire to seek out truth and justice, and to set wrongs right. He would be able to pronounce judgement on the validity of his own marriage or, as he was perhaps too closely involved in the case to be able to personally render a verdict, he could select a churchman of his choosing, somebody who could be trusted to seek out the truth of the matter, to make that his only concern and to grant an honest verdict, without having to worry about whether or not it would put the Emperor's nose out of joint.

How much simpler and easier that would have been, for all concerned!

It was with misgivings that he had accepted the pope's offer of a dispensation allowing him to commit bigamy and, although he and Anne had been married over nine months now, with their first child due around the first anniversary of their marriage, Henry was still not fully reconciled to the fact that he had accepted the deal, his conscience still pricking him with the thought that he should have held fast to his principles and insisted on seeing the thing through to the end, no matter how long it took, instead of taking the easy option.

It had its compensations, he could not deny that.

Much as he hated to admit it, Katherine was very popular amongst the English people, something that was rather surprising, given their usual mistrust of foreigners, and irritating under the circumstances, as it would have suited him quite well if his people had disliked Katherine, viewing her as a stranger and an unwelcome one at that, and if they had rejoiced at the thought of her being replaced with a lovely English maiden. When word of his Great Matter first became public knowledge, something that was unavoidable despite the attempts made to keep it a secret until the question of his annulment was resolved to his satisfaction, there were many objections to the idea of the woman who had been Queen of England for so many years being set aside, or to the girl the people had believed to be the King's legitimate daughter and heiress being named a bastard and much of the blame settled, unfairly, on Anne's head.

Although Henry, in his naiveté, was certain that he would have no difficulty securing the annulment he sought, he had worried about how the people would react to Anne when the time came, afraid that his people might prove to be obstinate, refusing to accept their new, rightful Queen and insisting on cleaving to Katherine instead, even after the pope passed judgement declaring that Katherine was not his wife and that she never had been. However, under the present circumstances, it seemed that they were quite willing to accept Anne as Princess Consort, as long as Katherine continued to bear the title of Queen during her lifetime. When Katherine died, they would willingly accept Anne as their new Queen, especially since by then, she was certain to have filled the royal nursery with fine, strong, handsome princes, together with a couple of princesses, with their mother's beauty and charm, who would make marital alliances with other royal houses, strengthening England's position internationally.

It had also saved them a great deal of time, which was invaluable as he was getting no younger and needed to be able to father an heir sooner rather than later. Wheels turned slowly in Rome, no matter how well they were oiled, by shrewd legal arguments and by a few well placed bribes, and the process would be particularly slow when the Emperor insisted on interfering and trying to stop their progress, employing whatever means necessary to obstruct justice out of family pride. Anne carried his son within her now but if he had not accepted the pope's offer, if he had insisted on continuing the fight, holding out for an annulment of his marriage to Katherine and refusing to accept any compromise, it was likely that he would be fighting still. He and Anne would not yet be married and their son would not yet be conceived, which would mean that England would have had to wait another year or two, at the very minimum, for a Prince of Wales.

Although he would have denied it if he could, if Henry was honest with himself, he had to admit that a small part of him was pleased that he did not have to hurt Katherine by setting her aside, knowing that she loved him and that she would be bitterly hurt if their marriage was annulled and she was no longer permitted to live under the same roof as he did. Given the choice, he would rather have Anne as his Queen while Katherine was titled Princess Consort but he was wise enough to know that there could be no question of reversing the two women's respective statuses. Even if it was legally permissible, the people would never stand for it.

Had their marriage been annulled, Henry knew that he would have continued to stand as Katherine's friend. There would be no question of her being ordered or pressured to leave England and return to her native Spain; she would stay here in England, enjoying all of the comforts and privileges of her true role as Princess Dowager of Wales and he would see to it that she was provided with everything that she could possibly need and that she was treated with the respect she was due as his brother's widow. He could remember when he first became King and was determined to rescue the lovely Spanish princess from the penury and isolation to which she was condemned when Arthur died and he would have continued to care for Katherine, and for their daughter. He would have found a kind, nobly born husband for Mary and, though she was not truly a princess, she would still be dowered royally, amply compensated for the loss of her previous status and her place in the line of succession. Neither of them would have had any complaints about the way they were treated.

He no longer shared Katherine's bed and he never dined with her privately, nor would he as it would be wrong for him to treat his brother's widow as though she were truly his wife but if Katherine was able to take some comfort from the fact that she was still his wife in name, even if in nothing else… well, there were times when Henry found it difficult to begrudge her that slight consolation.

However, now that the Christmas season was approaching, Henry was feeling misgivings again and he couldn't help but think that they might have been much better off if he had had the ecclesiastical authority that Tyndale suggested was the right of every King, which would have meant that he would have been able to annul his first marriage and that there would be no need for this farcical arrangement.

They had been quite fortunate so far in terms of public appearances, he had to admit that. Aside from the reception for the French ambassador shortly after he married Anne, which had gone quite well until Margaret chose to make a scene, something that Katherine could hardly be faulted for, there were very few occasions on which both Katherine and Anne were obliged to be by his side, and even then it was only in front of the rest of the court, who had adjusted to the unorthodox arrangement about as well as any people in their position could be expected to.

In six days time, however, it would be Christmas.

Not only would all of the nobles be arriving at court, bearing gifts for their sovereign in honour of the birth of the Christ Child and the New Year, the common people were also traditionally allowed into the Great Hall to watch the court eat, to help themselves from the plentiful array of food set out for them and to watch the entertainments that were staged in honour of the holiday.

Just as they expected to see Henry and Katherine attending Mass at the same time on Sunday, they would expect her to be on his arm for the Christmas feast and if she was not, there would be discontent. The people would say that Queen Katherine was being slighted, excluded from the festivities she had once been at the heart of in order that Anne might preside over them in her place and they would resent that, particularly the women. Even if they put out that she had taken ill and was obliged to absent herself from the celebrations for the sake of her health, it would still be alleged that she was being forced to stay away.

Katherine couldn't be left out.

He would have to escort her into the feast on his arm, and she would have to sit by his side and receive the nobles with him as they came to present their gifts… and Anne would be on his other side, only a few feet away from the woman who usurped the Queen's crown that should be hers, and who insisted on calling herself Anne's husband's wife.

He glanced at his wife, watching as Anne placed a hand at the small of her back, which had begun to trouble her a little over the past couple of weeks, as the child she carried grew heavier, his weight straining his mother. Both Dr Linacre and the midwife who had been engaged to deliver the baby when the time came assured him that there was no need to worry, that many women had a difficult time with pregnancy, particularly if it was their first and when the child they carried was a strong son, but that they and the babies they carried came through the ordeal unscathed but Henry couldn't help but be concerned for Anne, although he tried not to show it, not wanting to frighten her unnecessarily.

All the reassurances that it was natural for a strong, healthy child to draw the energy away from his mother so that it might grow stronger and larger in her womb was scant consolation when he saw Anne's face becoming paler and paler and when he noticed that she was tiring more easily these days, sometimes needing to take naps in the afternoons.

He would instruct Wolsey to say more Masses for Anne's health and he hoped that the Christmas festivities, together with the emotional strain of having Katherine present with them, would not tax her strength too much.

He set the book aside, reaching out one hand to motion her to come closer and, when she came within arm's length, he grasped her gently by the wrist and tugged her down on his knee, caressing her back and kissing her temple lightly, worried about how she would fare during the celebrations. Their first Christmas together as man and wife should have been a time of nothing but joy; they were young, they were in love, they had a baby on the way and they should have been completely content, looking forward to making merry throughout the Christmas season but instead Katherine would be there, a constant reminder of the fact that, unlike countless other loving couples, they were not to be permitted to enjoy a normal marriage.

He sighed, glancing across at the book on the table, imagining what it would have been like, had he been able to pronounce a verdict on the annulment of his own marriage.

It really would have been so much simpler…

* * *

**_24th December 1529_ **

Katherine would never be a vain woman. Nobody who knew her would ever have said that her interest in clothes was excessive, or that she was extravagant when it came to her personal needs but, even so, she still took pride in her appearance, knowing what it was that people expected of a Queen and determined not to disappoint them. She tended not to favour bright colours these days, thinking them rather inappropriate for a woman of her years and finding that the darker shades suited her better, but if her choice of colours veered towards sombre, she still wore the finest silks, satins and velvets, along with ornate jewels, as befitted her station.

For the Christmas revels, she summoned her best seamstresses and sent for cloth merchants to bring samples of appropriate fabrics to the court, examining the designs and approving her favourites – and while she would not ordinarily have tried to find out anything about what went on behind the closed doors of Anne's apartments, she quietly asked Lady Anne Clifford, one of her ladies-in-waiting, a woman who had been with her for years and whom she knew to be loyal to her and discreet, to see if she could find out what colour Anne was planning on wearing, so that their gowns would neither clash nor be of identical shades.

In many ways, it was all a performance, a show that was being put on for the people in order to reassure them that all was well with the royal family, despite the King's unorthodox marital arrangements, and well-chosen costumes were part of any masquerade, something that she was sure that Henry and Anne, who shared a love of theatrics, could appreciate.

At least she would have Mary with her, and Henry would be obliged to stay by her side. Last year, protocol demanded that she, then his Queen and, for the time being at any rate, his only wife, be the woman sitting by his side for the feasting and the presentation of gifts but, while Katherine had cherished a slight hope that the delights of the holiday would remind Henry of the pleasures they had shared in previous years, before Anne ever returned from France, and that the joy of the holiday combined with the memories of past delights might make him realize his folly in seeking to humiliate her by forcing her to stand by and watch while her husband took a second wife, and to humiliate Mary by subjecting her to the indignity of being supplanted by Anne's son, she soon learned that that hope was in vain.

Anne might not have been physically present for the occasion – even though it was well known by then that she and Henry were to be married in the spring, Wolsey and More had managed to persuade Henry that it would not be fitting for her to be present for the Christmas feast before the wedding, suggesting that the people would prefer to see only the King, the Queen and the Princess Mary when they were allowed to watch the celebrations and that it would be better if Anne held her own revels in her apartments or in the London house given over to her use – but it was as though she was a ghost, haunting them, refusing to allow Henry to forget her, even for a moment.

One look at Henry's face made it plain that he missed her.

He was barely able to summon a smile for the common people who entered the Great Hall in droves, anxious to catch a glimpse of their King, and he showed no interest in the expensive, beautifully wrought gifts that his nobles presented him with, smiling half-heartedly and thanking them as though by rote, like a child reciting his lessons. He wouldn't dance, forgoing the first dance that was traditionally reserved for the King and Queen and even refusing Mary's entreaties when she asked him to dance with her. Their daughter was especially hurt when even the little song that she had composed for the occasion, with the help of her music tutor, failed to capture her father's attention or to win more than an absent smile and a few disinterested words of praise from him. Not even the applause of the court, and her mother's fervent and sincere praise for both the song and her playing could compensate for her father's lack of interest or enthusiasm.

Looking at her husband then, Katherine thought that he looked like a little boy, and a spoiled, over-indulged little boy at that. He could not have what he wanted, he could not have Anne with him and, as a result, he was determined to make the holiday an unhappy one for the rest of them.

It was almost a relief when he declared that he had a headache and absented himself from the festivities, instructing that they should continue without him, even though Katherine, like just about every courtier present, knew that Henry's headache would not be severe enough to prevent him from taking a barge down to Anne's London house, where she and her circle were enjoying their own Christmas revels, away from the rest of the court. Once he was gone, she made a determined effort to continue as normal, for Mary's sake and for the sake of the people who had come to watch, but the festive mood had been dampened too much for them to be able to recapture any spirit of gaiety.

This year, Anne would be there, as was her right but at least if she was there, Henry would not want to leave the celebrations, depriving even his own daughter of the pleasure she took in having her father there with her for the holiday.

For Mary's sake, Katherine prayed that the Christmas celebrations would go well.

Mary was with her now, trying on her new gown, with which she was plainly delighted, turning to view it from every angle in the mirror, well satisfied with it. Ordinarily, Katherine would have warned her, albeit gently, about the dangers of vanity but Mary was a princess, after all, and it was well for a princess to be confident – and she had to admit that she herself was very proud of her daughter's appearance, proud to see that the girl she still thought of as her baby had grown into such a lovely girl, one who promised to be a very pretty woman, even if that pride was tinged with a little sadness.

Although it did not seem that long since the midwife first placed her newborn daughter in her arms, offering tentative condolences for the fact that, after the previous disappointments, the child was only a girl instead of the son that England had prayed for and needed so badly, Katherine realized that Mary was fast becoming a young woman. In February, she would celebrate her twelfth birthday, reaching marriageable age and the time when she would have to leave her home to travel to the country of her future husband drew nearer and nearer.

Her betrothal to the Duke of Orleans, King Francis' second son, was still agreed upon by both fathers – although, if Henry had thought to ask her opinion, Katherine would counsel against her daughter being married to a Valois, her family's sworn enemies – but because the boy was a month Mary's junior and could not be married until his fourteenth birthday, she would be able to keep her beloved daughter with her a little longer, which was just as well, as Mary was at an age when she would badly need her mother's guidance and support and she crossed the threshold between childhood and womanhood.

"You look lovely, sweetheart." Katherine smiled at her daughter, holding still while the seamstresses helped her into her own gown, of rich crimson velvet embellished with gold embroidery, so that they could check to see if there was a need for any last minute alterations before tomorrow night.

"So do you, Mama." Mary said, staring worshipfully at her mother for a few moments before glancing down at the chest where the Queen's jewels were kept, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth at the sight of it. How Anne must _hate_ that she was not allowed to lay claim to these jewels! She might have been able to bewitch Mary's father but she couldn't change the fact that Mary's mother was Queen, and that there could be no other Queen of England as long as she lived. "I think that you should wear the rubies." She said decisively, thinking that they would be perfect with her mother's gown. "The colour is perfect."

"I think so too." Katherine agreed, lifting each of her arms in turn so that the seamstresses could examine the fit of her sleeves. "What do you think you will wear, darling?" She asked, glancing at Mary's ivory silk gown and its gold embroidery, thinking that pearls would be ideal and trying to remember if her daughter had anything suitable.

"I don't know." Mary said shortly.

"But Your Highness," Lady Salisbury, silent until now, spoke up from her chair by the fireside. "Wouldn't the gift that the Prin…"

"Salisbury!" Mary snapped at her governess, scowling. "Be quiet!"

"Mary!" Katherine rebuked her daughter, shocked to hear Mary speak to her governess, who was devoted to her and who deserved far more respect, like that. "Apologize to Lady Salisbury at once, and never let me hear you speaking like that to anybody else, ever again."

"I'm sorry, Salisbury." Mary said stiffly, sounding far from contrite but Katherine judged it better not to push her.

She turned to Lady Salisbury, curious about what she had been saying. "What was it that you were speaking of, Lady Salisbury – before you were interrupted?" She added, frowning reprovingly at Mary and wondering what had come over her daughter today. She was usually so polite and thoughtful to those around her!

"I was speaking of the Christmas gift that the Princess Consort sent to Her Highness." Lady Salisbury said, feeling slightly wary about speaking of Anne openly before Katherine, wondering if she might have made a mistake bringing the matter up. "A headdress, one with pearls. I thought that it would look pretty with the Princess' new gown."

"I see." Katherine said quietly, glancing down at Mary, who refused to meet her eyes. "Could you fetch it, please?" She asked.

"Of course, Your Majesty." Lady Salisbury curtsied deeply, backing out of the room to carry out her errand.

Mary did not say a word while she and her mother waited for her governess to return but it was clear from the sullen expression on her face that she was far from pleased by this development. Katherine watched her, feeling concerned when she saw the way her daughter's jaw was clenching as she stood there, thinking that looked very like Henry when he was angry about something or when he failed to get his own way. Mary seemed to have inherited her share of the Tudor temper but, while Henry himself could be short-tempered, he was not a man who would tolerate that sort of thing from others, except perhaps Anne, who seemed to be able do whatever she pleased and get away with it – as she had proven the previous week with Tyndale's forbidden book.

Margaret made the mistake of losing her temper at the reception in March and the result was her banishment from the court. The last thing that Katherine wanted was to see Mary following in her aunt's footsteps, and that was something that could easily happen if she persisted in pitting herself against Anne who, sooner or later, was bound to lose patience with her.

Lady Salisbury returned presently, carrying a small, carved box, which, at Katherine's signal, she opened to reveal a dainty headdress made of gold filigree and pearls, with a design of a Tudor rose over the crown of the head and a sheer veil, exactly the same shade as the pearls and with the same kind of sheen, flowing behind it.

"The Princess Consort sent this to Princess Mary this morning," she explained, gently fingering the headdress, which Katherine had to admit was beautiful – whatever else could be said about her, Anne's taste in clothes and jewellery was exquisite. "She also sent a note saying that she was going to wait until tomorrow but she thought that the Princess might like it sooner."

Katherine nodded, thinking that Anne could also have been motivated to send her gift today instead of waiting by the fact that she was surely well aware of the fact that Mary might be capable of refusing her gift if it was presented to her publicly, or that even if Mary felt under pressure to accept the gift, she would resent it. She doubted that tact would ever be one of Anne's strengths but at least she seemed to possess enough of it to want to try to make it a little easier for Mary to cope with their new situation, instead of going out of her way to make things more difficult.

She turned to Mary, forcing herself to smile as she lifted the headdress out of the box and held it out to her. "It really is beautiful, Mary, and it would look very pretty with your gown." She suggested, hoping that if Mary was worried that she might be betraying her by accepting the gift, her reassuring tone would convince her that it was alright if she wished to accept and wear it.

Henry would certainly be pleased if their daughter appeared at the festivities wearing a gift Anne had sent her, taking it as a sign that Mary was becoming reconciled to their situation, and to her stepmother, something he greatly desired and that he was beginning to feel impatient with her over.

"I don't want to wear it. I don't want to wear anything that she sends me." Mary insisted, folding her arms over her chest in the same stubborn pose she had adopted when she insisted that she had no intention of accepting Anne's invitation to perform in the masquerade for the French envoy, a refusal that had prompted Henry to complain to Katherine that their daughter was becoming very obdurate and difficult, and to suggest that perhaps Mary was being spoiled by being allowed to remain at court and that he might have to consider sending her away to the country until she proved herself capable of behaving in a more fitting manner, a threat that alarmed Katherine since she knew Henry well enough to know that he would be more than willing to carry out that threat if he was pushed.

He had also complained over Mary's refusal to join the rest of the court when they prayed for Anne's safe delivery and the birth of a healthy prince, accusing Katherine of trying to turn their daughter against him, against Anne and even against their unborn son, an accusation she vehemently denied, insisting that she would never have tried to influence Mary against him but Henry never seemed to be convinced that she was telling the truth.

"That is a childish attitude, Mary." Katherine observed coolly, wondering what it would take to get her daughter to see reason and to realize that, if Anne was making overtures of friendship, it would be best for all concerned if Mary responded, even if she could only bring herself to do so in a small way. At least that would be a good beginning. She might not like it but Anne was the one who had Henry's ear and she could do more for Mary with a few words or a casual request, than Katherine could manage by either pleading with him or appealing to his love for their daughter and the affection he had once had for her. "I am certain that your father would be pleased if you wore it." She said, hoping that she might enjoy more success if she appealed to Mary's adoration of her father and her earnest desire to please him and to be, once more, the beloved pearl of his world. "He wants you to be happy, dearest." She added more gently. "And he'll be so glad if he thinks that you are trying to be."

"If he wants me to be happy, then he has to send _her_ away forever, her and her baby!" Mary said, scowling and biting her lower lip to keep the tears from flowing, devastated that not even her own beloved mother could see why she couldn't give in, why she couldn't let that woman win. She was fighting for both of them but her mother couldn't seem to see it, or to understand that Mary couldn't yield, for both their sakes. "He doesn't need her when he has you and he doesn't need her baby when he has me!" She knew that if her father would only give her the chance, she could prove to him that she was better able to rule England than Anne's baby would be, even if it was a boy. She worked hard at her lessons, harder than she ever had before, determined to be the best educated princess in Europe, equalling, if not outstripping, any prince her father cared to name and proving to him that she was the best heir he could possibly wish for.

"That will never happen, Mary, nor should you wish for it to." Katherine said firmly, trying to suppress any desire for a similar outcome that she felt in her own heart, a desire that her faith could not allow her to see as anything other than wicked, no matter how appealing it was. "We have spoken of this before, many times. His Holiness granted your father a dispensation to take a second wife and your father chose Lady Anne... the Princess Consort. She _is_ his wife now, regardless of how you or I might feel about it, and the children she and your father will have together will be your half-brothers and sisters – your _legitimate_ half-brothers and sisters." She added, remembering how difficult it was for her to explain the situation to her daughter when little Henry Fitzroy was born, and when Henry chose to ennoble him three years later. You can't feel angry with them because of who their mother is – I hope that you will treat the baby that the Princess Consort is expecting exactly as you would treat him or her if they were born to me." As she spoke, Katherine felt a surge of pain at the thought that the child would not be her own son or daughter; God knew that, while she had prayed for a son, she would have welcomed a second daughter just as much.

It was a Queen's duty to bear her husband a male heir, and preferably more than one to ensure that the succession was secure, but she had failed to fulfil that duty.

Katherine could never be accused of not trying or praying hard enough for to give Henry the son he craved and it was so difficult to know that because she had failed to produce a son, another woman had been brought into her marriage to succeed where she had failed, and it would be that woman's son who sat on the throne, inheriting the crown that she had thought would one day belong to her own son, later imagining that it would one day sit on the head of her adored daughter. She loved Mary too much to ever wish that her daughter was any different than she was, and even if she was granted the ability to change Mary's sex, she wouldn't but that did not stop her wishing that she had been able to give her daughter a brother.

Now, it seemed likely that Mary would have a brother, if not next spring then the year afterwards, but he would be _Anne's_ son, not Katherine's, and Henry would love Anne more than ever if she was able to present him with a healthy prince.

The thought broke her heart but, for Mary's sake, she couldn't let that show, knowing that if her daughter saw how much this hurt her, she would leap to her defence, even against Henry, and that was the last thing that either of them needed.

"Please," she told Mary quietly, reaching out to take her daughter in her arms. "Try, for me."

Mary bit her lower lip as she looked up into her mother's eyes, seeing from the expression on her face that she truly wanted – no, needed – for Mary to do this. If it was anybody else who asked this of her, even her father, she would have refused, and in no uncertain terms but, faced with the pleading expression on her mother's face, she found herself nodding slowly. "I'll try." She said at last. "For you."

* * *

**_25th December 1529_ **

Henry was sure that he could hear scattered tittering from among the ranks of the common people gathered at the back of the Great Hall but he determinedly suppressed his urge to whirl around and order his guards to remove whoever it was who had dared to laugh at their sovereign, keeping his head high as he walked the length of the Hall, through to the presence chamber, with Katherine on his right arm and Anne on his left.

Usually, when he received petitioners, Anne was the only one he wanted to have sitting by his side and Katherine, thankfully, knew better than to push in when she was not wanted, so under ordinary circumstances, there would only be two thrones on the dais but for today, a third had had to be placed there.

As soon as they came within a few feet of the dais, Henry released Katherine abruptly, shaking off her hand and moving to support Anne as he helped her onto the dais and seated her on her throne, reasoning that nobody could condemn him if his priority was to help Anne, whose swelling belly was visible even under the panels that had been added to the deep green silk and damask gown she wore. Once Anne was seated, the temptation to ignore Katherine and to sit down on his own throne, embarrassing her by neglecting the courtesies that convention demanded of him and making it plain to her that she would have to shift for herself, was a strong one but he managed to maintain enough self-control not to do so, knowing that he would be condemned if he did.

The people wanted to see the royal family happy and unified, especially on today of all days and it was Henry's duty to show them what they wanted to see.

For her part, Katherine betrayed no sign of resentment at this, accepting the hand that Henry extended to her once Anne was seated and allowing him to seat her, smiling at him and thanking him pleasantly, as though she had never had any doubt that he would do so. Like Anne, she was dressed in an appropriate colour for the Christmas celebrations, crimson and Henry wasn't sure whether he should find it amusing or irritating that the wreaths both women wore in honour of the occasion were practically identical. Had this happened accidentally or had the person who made the wreaths intended that they should look similar?

Once Katherine was seated, Henry took his place between the two women, smiling slightly as Mary approached, curtseying before moving to stand next to her mother. He was pleased to see his daughter wearing the headdress that Anne had given her as a Christmas gift, thinking that the gold and pearl looked very pretty with her ivory gown and with her dark hair, happy to see that she was finally making an effort, shaking off her mother's influence and showing herself willing to respond to the overtures of friendship that Anne made to her.

Mary was certainly growing to be a very pretty girl and, when the time came for her marriage to the Duke of Orleans to take place, he would be sending a lovely bride over to France.

Katherine was still unhappy about the prospect of a French marriage for their daughter, Henry was well aware of that fact. She would prefer to see Mary marry into the Spanish royal family, her own kin, but the Emperor had jilted their daughter and his son was still a toddler, not yet two years old, far too young to be a suitable candidate as Mary's future husband, so it would have to be the Duke of Orleans, assuming that King Francis kept his word… and that Henry was able to proceed with the arrangement when the time came for the marriage to be solemnized.

Mary was illegitimate in the eyes of God, even if she was legitimate in name.

Although he was not especially fond of King Francis, the other man was still a fellow monarch and, as the time for Mary's marriage drew nearer, Henry found himself being plagued by doubt over whether or not he should allow the marriage to take place, if he should really stand by and allow any prince, even one of the House of Valois, to contract a marriage with a bastard, even if that bastard was the daughter of the King of England. If Mary went to France to marry the Duke of Orleans, she would be going there under false pretences, believed to be a trueborn princess of England. Knowing how he would react if, when his son by Anne was born, King Francis sought to offer a bastard daughter of his own as a potential bride for the little Prince of Wales, Henry couldn't help but shrink from the thought of knowingly allowing his illegitimate daughter to marry a prince but he determinedly banished the thought from his mind.

There were still a couple of years before the marriage could take place, after all, and he would be able to consult with Wolsey – and with Mr Cranmer, Anne's new chaplain, who seemed to have a good head on his shoulders and an excellent knowledge and understanding of theology – before then, to seek their advice on whether or not he ought to allow the marriage to proceed or if he ought to bow out of the arrangement made with King Francis, explaining that he could not, in good conscience, marry his illegitimate daughter to a legitimate French prince. In the meantime, it was Christmas, a time for joy and for celebration, not for dwelling on such serious business.

He sat back on his throne, impulsively reaching for Anne's hand and holding it gently in his as he motioned for Wolsey who, as Lord Chancellor, had the privilege of being the first to present his gifts to the royal family, beginning with Henry himself, then Anne, followed by Katherine and ending with Mary, who did her best to maintain a suitably grave expression when Wolsey presented her with the ornate jewelled pomander he had commissioned for her, as befitted a royal princess, but who could not hide the gleam of pleasure in her eyes, like any other child who had just received a gift.

Wolsey's smile was placid as he accepted the large gold bowl that a groom presented him with as his own Christmas gift, and then he bowed and backed away. When he returned to his place, he could see More's lips thinning slightly in disapproval and knew exactly what it was that the other man objected to. At Henry's express orders, his two wives enjoyed equal standing and precedence at court, which meant that courtiers were obliged to accord Anne exactly the same degree of respect that they did Katherine but it also meant that neither lady could be expected to take second place to the other. As a rule, this was not an issue as they both made a point of avoiding the other but today, when they were both present, it posed certain difficulties, since courtiers bearing gifts would have to adopt to present one of the two with her gift before the other.

Strictly speaking, there was no right or wrong choice in terms of precedence, although most would have expected that the Queen should come first but Wolsey was clever enough to know which choice Henry would want him to make so he acknowledged Anne first, deeming it more important to please the King, even if he attracted the disapproval of those who supported Katherine for doing so.

Henry rewarded Wolsey with an approving smile, pleased that his friend knew to whom he should be deferring as the true consort, squeezing Anne's hand lightly as her uncle, as first among the peers after Anne herself, stepped forward with his own gifts.

The ceremony for the presentation of gifts was a long one, punctuated by admiring murmurs from the common people watching, their eyes wide at the sight of the rich gifts being exchanged, any one of which would have provided for their families for at least a year, and by an occasional whisper amongst the courtiers at a particularly rich gift either bestowed upon a member of the royal family or else presented by the King to one of the courtiers.

They were not merely presenting gifts in honour of the birth of the Christ Child and in the spirit of love, there were two competitions running among the courtiers; not only were they vying with one another to ensure that their gift was the finest and the most expensive, they also kept a keen eye on the gifts that were being presented by the King, mentally tallying the value of each item of gold or silver plate handed out and watching to see who was presented with the most valuable pieces, a clear indication of the King's favour.

Those with sharp eyes noted that the most valuable gifts were given to Wolsey, which was expected, but also to the Earl of Wiltshire, the Duke of Norfolk and Lord Rochford, Anne's relatives, just as they noted that the beautifully wrought cup presented to the French ambassador was worth at least three or four times as much as the gilt bowl presented to the Imperial ambassador, a marked display of which monarch the King preferred to enter into friendly relations with and one that prompted whispered speculation about the Queen's likely reaction to this.

Although she had initially been looking forward to the celebration, enjoying the thought of sitting next to Henry at such an important ceremony, one at which the common people would see her sitting on a throne next to him, in all her splendour as his consort, Anne quickly realized that the reality was not as pleasant as her imaginings, not by a long shot. Her gown, which had seemed so perfect when she first put it on, now felt too hot and too heavy and she was convinced that she could feel beads of perspiration forming on her forehead and shoulders, especially since, between the press of bodies and the heat of the braziers burning in each corner of the room to help ward off infection, the presence chamber felt very warm, almost unbearably so, which made her feel nauseous. Her back ached and the child within her turned and kicked restlessly, pressing uncomfortably against her bladder.

She kept a pleasant smile on her face, digging the fingers of her free hand into the arm of her throne to steady herself when she began to feel faint, wondering how much longer it would be before this part of the ceremony was over, giving her an opportunity to slip away for a short while before she would need to be back to attend the banquet.

Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed as though the line of courtiers waiting to present their gifts was growing longer instead of shorter, despite the fact that they had been sitting there for what felt like hours, and the temptation to get up, to take a short walk to relieve her cramping muscles and to get something to drink was a strong one but she didn't move.

She was no weakling who could not bear any hint of discomfort. It was her duty as Henry's consort to be present for this occasion, sitting at his side, ready to greet each courtier with a smile, thanking them prettily for their gifts and giving them her best wishes for the holiday and she had no intention of shirking that duty, pregnant or not. She certainly wasn't about to slink away while Katherine got to continue to receive the courtiers at Henry's side!

No matter how tempting it might seem...

Sitting next to Anne, Henry too was finding the ceremony to be rather wearying. Usually, he took great pleasure in this aspect of the Christmas celebrations, liking both the gifts he received from his courtiers and the amusement of knowing that they were pitting themselves against one another, vying to be the man whose gift was most warmly received by the King and hoping to be the one on whom the King would bestow the most valuable trinket but this evening, his pleasure was dampened by the curious eyes staring up at him and at the two women sitting on either side of him. The courtiers might be accustomed to the situation but the common people stared unabashed, with some of them even daring to whisper amongst themselves that it must be a fine thing to be the King of England; instead of having to remain tied to his aging wife and forbidden to take any other while she lived, he was allowed to marry a second wife, a beautiful younger woman who could give him both pleasure and children.

He didn't like his relationship to Anne being dismissed like that, as though it was nothing more than a convenience for him. She was far more to him than a bed mate, far more than the mother of his unborn child, even. He loved her, more than he had ever loved anybody else, and he had wanted to marry her because he couldn't bear the thought that they would not be together for the rest of their lives. How could it be that so few people seemed able to grasp so simple a concept?

"Henry," Katherine spoke up in a quiet voice, intruding on his thoughts. He turned to her with a frown, ready to hiss a reproof for interrupting the ceremony like that but when he looked at her, he saw that her gaze was directed at Anne and that the expression on her face was one of concern. "Is she feeling well?"

Henry whirled around to look at Anne, who was whiter than usual, her discomfort etched on her face as she swayed slightly on her throne. He rose hastily, half-afraid that she might faint and fall, moving to stand behind her and to support her, his eyes automatically drawn to the skirt of her gown. He breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw that there was no trace of blood on it, no hint that there might be something wrong with the baby. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" He asked tenderly, nodding for Wolsey to clear the room, banishing the people who stood there gawking at Anne as though they had never seen a pregnant woman having a spell of faintness before.

"I'm fine." Anne insisted, feeling mortified that, once again, she had been the cause of an abrupt interruption to the ceremony but, at the same time, feeling a strong measure of relief now that all of the common people and most of the courtiers, with the exception of her relatives, had been ushered out of the room by Cardinal Wolsey. Her father, uncle, sister and brother watched her in concern, while Mary's face betrayed only curiousity, rather than sympathy or anything like that.

"I'll send for Dr Linacre." Wolsey volunteered, making a shallow bow in Anne's direction and giving her a warm, almost paternal smile. "You should rest for a while, Your Majesty, and gather your strength before the banquet – if you feel up to it, of course." He added hastily, not wanting Henry to think that he was pushing Anne to take part in the revels when she wasn't well enough. Henry nodded permission and Wolsey departed in search of the physician.

"It's the heat of the room, and the strain of the ceremony." Katherine, a veteran of many pregnancies, seven of which had come full term or within a couple of months of it, observed practically, well able to remember how she had felt during the revels the Christmas before Mary was born, when she would have given almost anything to flee the endless hours of ceremony and seek refuge in the peace and tranquillity of her own rooms, or even just settled for the opportunity to get up and walk for a while, exercising her cramped limbs. She saw Anne look up at her with wary blue eyes and could hazard a guess as to what the other woman was thinking, knowing that Anne was probably wondering whether or not any advice she gave her could be trusted, perhaps even suspecting that she might be deliberately giving her the wrong counsel in the hopes that the child she carried would be harmed. It was offensive to think that anybody could imagine her to be capable of such wickedness but, if Anne and Henry consulted Dr Linacre, Katherine was sure that he would tell them the same thing that she had.

Helping Anne to her feet, Henry kept a supportive arm around her waist as he guided her towards the door leading into one of the corridors, away from the Great Hall and the revellers. "Maybe we should go outside for a short walk, you need the air." He suggested, before shaking his head, rejecting his own idea and thinking that the night air would be far too cold for them to go outside. If they did, it was very likely that they would both be nursing nasty chills by tomorrow morning and they certainly did not need that. "Or back to your rooms."

"But the celebration..." Anne protested, albeit half-heartedly, unable to keep herself from feeling tempted by the prospect of just being able to leave. The baby kicked strongly, as though to indicate that he approved of his father's plan. "I should be here with you."

"There'll be other Christmases, sweetheart. It's just a holiday, after all." Henry reminded her gently. "And besides," he added with an impish smile, surprising Anne by scooping her up into his arms, "what makes you think that I'd let you go back by yourself? We can send for food and musicians and have our own celebration in your apartment. Would you like that?" She nodded, putting one arm around his neck to help steady herself, her other hand resting over her abdomen, and he gently shifted her into a more comfortable position in his arms, kissing her lightly before glancing up, as thought realizing that they were not alone and that there were six others present, waiting for his cue as to what they should do. "You can manage without me, can't you?" He asked Katherine, knowing what her answer would be.

"Of course." She nodded graciously, betraying no hint of the disappointment that she felt at Henry's opting to accompany Anne instead of remaining there with her, with Mary and with the rest of the court. It was almost amusing to think that just yesterday, she had consoled herself with the thought that having Anne present would mean that Henry would attend too, not predicting that they would both wind up leaving early. In Anne's case, it was understandable. In her condition, she needed to take proper care of herself and she did not appear to be having a particularly easy time with this pregnancy but Henry was another matter. He was the King and he had his court, along with many of the common people, waiting for him to rejoin him, so she would have said that it was his duty to do so, if she had not known better than to criticize his chosen course of action, and if she had not known that if she did, there would be gossip about how her envy of Anne was so strong and so bitter that she begrudged her Henry's company when she was feeling unwell.

"But Papa..." Mary began to protest but she trailed off, biting her lower lip. There was no point in her arguing, or even pleading with her father to stay, she knew that. If he wanted to go with Anne, he would and she couldn't stop him.

Henry gave her a quick smile. "I'll be by your rooms later, to say goodnight." He promised, knowing that she would be disappointed but hoping that she would be able to understand that Anne needed him now and he couldn't leave her by herself. "Give them our apologies." He instructed Boleyn, who nodded immediately.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Boleyn responded, his irritation over the fact that his daughter needed to absent herself from the revels outweighed by the satisfaction he felt when he saw the King opting to remain with Anne instead of rejoining the celebration. It always pleased him to see his son-in-law's devotion, especially when he knew that Henry was very likely to award honours to Anne's relatives to please her. He was already anticipating the fresh honours and offices that would be heaped on him when Anne bore a son, as a reward for his daughter's fertility. "I will make an announcement that Anne was taken ill and that you and she have retired for the night."

"Good." Henry nodded his approval, smiling his thanks when George hastened to open the door for him so that he could carry Anne out into the corridor, bound for her apartments.

Mary waited until Anne's relatives had departed, leaving her and her mother alone, before she spoke. "She ruined it again!" She muttered viciously, tugging at the pearl headdress she wore, the one she had donned as an overture of peace, at her mother's urging. "Just like last year!"

"She can't help feeling unwell, not in her condition." Katherine began reasonably. "You can't expect her to take risks with the child she carries, just to remain at the revels."

"She could have told Papa to stay here, with us, instead of letting him go away with her." Mary pointed out, determinedly suppressing her knowledge that, once her father had made up his mind to stay with Anne for the evening, he was unlikely to be swayed, even by Anne herself, not if he believed that she needed him to stay with her. She managed to free her hair from the headdress and she tossed it aside contemptuously, resolving never to wear it again. "There's no point in trying to be nice to her, she ruins everything and she always will!" She began to march in the direction of the door, biting down hard on her lower lip to keep the tears from flowing, unwilling to allow anybody in the palace to see her crying, not over Anne.

"Where are you going?" Katherine asked, reaching for Mary and feeling worried and hurt when her daughter shrugged off her touch, unwilling to accept the comfort she offered.

"To my apartments – if _she_ can leave, I can leave." Not waiting for her mother to answer, either to grant her permission to leave if she wished to do so, or to forbid her to absent herself from the rest of the revels, Mary stalked out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind her.

Katherine badly wanted to follow her, to reassure her or even just to hold her but they were waiting for her in the Great Hall, and she was the only representative of the royal family left to present a happy facade to the people awaiting her. She walked towards the doors leading into the Great Hall, knowing that the sound of her footsteps would alert the sentries on the other side to open them for her, and that the herald would be waiting to announce her.

As a mother, she wanted to follow her daughter but as Queen, it was her duty to preside over the revels in her husband's absence and she could not abandon her duty to the people, even for her child.


	10. Chapter Nine

**_26th February 1530_ **

When Henry had given his directions for the construction and decorations of Anne's apartments, he had wanted to ensure that they were bright and airy but today, the windows were shuttered and the silk-panelled walls were hung with heavy tapestries of religious imagery. Although the day was mild for February, huge log fires were burning in Anne's bedchamber and in the outer chamber, leaving the room as warm as the palace kitchens.

"It's like a prison!" Anne's dismay was plain when she was escorted into the room to see the changes made to her apartments in preparation for her confinement. Henry supported her as he escorted her towards the couch, helping her to lie down on it and placing a plump silken pillow behind her to support her and ease the strain that the baby's weight was placing on her back.

Henry smiled slightly, rubbing her shoulder gently, unable to deny that she had a point. "I know, sweetheart, but trust me, it could be much worse. If my grandmother was still alive and had any say in the matter, the windows would have to stay closed for the next month and you wouldn't be allowed to have any visitors other than your ladies and the midwives, not even me."

His indomitable grandmother, Lady Margaret Beaufort, had governed the court with a fist of iron during her son's reign, laying down strict protocols governing royal events, from weddings, to state visits, to funerals, to royal births. Under her regime, a royal mother could expect to be kept confined to her chamber for at least a month before her child was due to be born, perhaps six weeks – longer if she had a history of difficult births – and she would not be permitted to leave it for another six weeks after the child was born. Before the birth, no visitors were allowed, particularly male visitors, and the prohibition extended even to her husband, although that rule was relaxed after the birth, when a parade of admirers and well-wishers would flock to be able to congratulate the mother and peek at the child in its ornate state cradle.

Although those rules were rigidly adhered to during his grandmother's time, for each of his mother's pregnancies, and although Katherine had followed them for her confinements, Dr Linacre and the midwives had both confirmed that they were not necessary to ensure the health and welfare of mother and child. Indeed, Linacre had voiced the opinion that depriving an expectant mother of fresh air and keeping her restricted for so long was likely to do her far more harm than good, so the usual rules for a royal birth were relaxed for Anne.

She would need to rest, of course, in order to gather her strength for her impending labour but she would not need to be isolated, something Henry was especially glad of since he would have hated the thought of having to stay away from her for so many weeks, even if it was in a good cause.

He already hated the thought that he was going to have to return to his own apartments tonight, alone. He hadn't slept away from Anne for even one night since their wedding night.

"Besides," Henry added cheerfully, not wanting her to fret, "it'll all be worth it when we have our son." He kissed Anne on the cheek before leaving, not noticing that her face fell at his words. As he departed, Lady Mary Carey opened the door for him and he gave her a quick smile. "Take good care of her, Lady Mary." He instructed good-naturedly, knowing that Anne's sister could be relied upon to care for her and to keep her spirits up, even without him asking her to do so.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Mary curtsied, waiting until the King was gone before moving over to her sister's side, seeing the downcast expression on her face, which she couldn't quite hide. "What's the matter, Anne?" She asked, concerned. She touched her sister's swelling belly gently, trying to judge the baby's position. It was still somewhat early for him to be born. "Is it the baby?"

"No... yes." Anne corrected herself, rubbing her belly thoughtfully before gesturing to her surroundings. "He said that this would all be worth it when our son was born."

"Don't you think that it will?" Mary asked, puzzled by her sister's words. She would have thought that Anne would be thrilled now that her son's arrival was at hand, to know that once he was born, she would have given the King his great desire and cemented her position in his heart. Queen Katherine would have sacrificed anything to be in Anne's place now, everybody knew that. "The King wants a son very badly – the whole country is looking forward to the arrival of a prince. He's going to be delighted when the baby is born; I'll bet that he's already started planning the celebrations and jousts in the Prince's honour..."

"Yes," Anne met her sister's gaze, her eyes wide. "But what if the baby is a girl?"

* * *

"At least she's out of the way for now." Princess Mary said aloud, ignoring Lady Salisbury's disapproving expression at her remark and doing her best not to show any sign of feeling upset about what was happening. Even if she was unhappy, her pride balked at the thought of allowing others to see that, especially people who might go to Anne or to her family to gloat over the fact that the Princess Mary was upset about the impending birth. As glad as she was that Anne was now safely confined to her chambers, where she was likely to remain for more than two months, which meant that she couldn't usurp Mary's father's attention as much as she normally did, she couldn't escape the knowledge of _why_ Anne was confined to her chambers.

A great fuss was being made of Anne because of the child she carried, and even before she withdrew from the court to await the birth, arrangements for her confinement seemed to dominate virtually everybody's thoughts. Even Mary's birthday last week had passed more quietly than usual; there was a feast in her honour and her father was there and made a great fuss over her, presenting her with lavish gifts and calling for toasts in her honour, even speaking quite pleasantly with her mother, as he had before he met Anne, agreeing with her that their daughter was growing into a lovely and clever girl, who would be a beautiful woman one day, but Mary could tell that he was distracted.

Anne herself had not attended – whether because, having entered her last month of pregnancy, she wasn't feeling well enough to attend revels of any kind, or because she knew that Mary would prefer it if she absented herself, only the lady herself would have been able to say – but Mary knew that her father still worried about her, and about the child, slipping away from the festivities a few times to check on Anne, absences that were noted by those present.

Everybody at court was counting the days on their fingers, anticipating the date on which Anne was due to be delivered of her child, and as much as Mary hated to think it, as much as she would have liked to be able to believe that they were all loyal to her and would not want to see Anne's child displace her, many of them were praying for the safe delivery of a prince, even though the birth of a son would mean that he would become the heir to the throne, supplanting Mary. So many of the courtiers who had once bent the knee to her as the Princess of Wales would be content to see her replaced by this baby.

Ever since her father sent a message to Ludlow Castle, informing Lady Salisbury that, effective immediately, Mary could no longer be titled the Princess of Wales and no longer enjoy the privileges and royal prerogatives of that role, she had known that he was no longer content to have her as his heir – if he had ever been content with that in the first place – and as soon as she learned that he was to marry Anne, she knew that he hoped that that woman would bear him a son who would be the Prince of Wales, and then other boys after that, all of whom would stand between Mary and the throne.

Anne's baby was far more of a threat to Mary's place than even her young half-brother, Henry Fitzroy, once was.

Although her mother and Lady Salisbury had done their best not to let her know of it when her father ennobled his bastard son, granting him the titles of Duke of Richmond and of Somerset – the former title being one that was very closely associated with the Tudor line, as Henry the Seventh had been Earl of Richmond before he became King – and providing him with a household fit for a prince, a household that was even larger than the one Mary was granted as Princess of Wales, Mary had heard about it and, even though she was only nine at the time, she was clever enough to be able to guess what it was that her father hoped. He wanted to set his son above everybody in England besides himself, even above Mary, because he wanted to build up his son as his heir, even though he was a bastard and should not be allowed to succeed to the throne, even though he already had a legitimate daughter to succeed him. He wanted to persuade the people to accept the little boy as a potential heir.

Given the choice, he would rather have made Fitzroy his heir ahead of Mary. Given the choice, he would rather if his son could have been legitimate while Mary was a bastard.

Just because Fitzroy was a boy and Mary was a girl.

Back then, however, Mary wasn't afraid that she would be displaced, not really.

Even if her father wanted to set his son ahead of her – or believed that he did; Mary couldn't believe that her adoring papa could ever truly want to see her set aside, not even for a bastard son – she was confident that he wouldn't be allowed to do so. The people loved her and, as her mother often told her, she was a descendant of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, which meant that she was first cousin to the Emperor, who would not be pleased to learn that his relative was to be deprived of her rights in favour of an illegitimate half-brother. Neither the people nor the Emperor would be prepared to see her set aside. Once the sweating sickness carried little Fitzroy away, the danger to her position passed.

Now, however, it was different.

Whether she liked it or not, her father's union with Anne was accepted as a true marriage, which meant that the child Anne was carrying, the child who was due to be born within a matter of weeks, would be considered legitimate. The pope had given his permission for a bigamous marriage because he was afraid of what would happen if he denied Mary's father what he wanted but the reason for the dispensation didn't truly matter. All that mattered was that the dispensation had been given, legalizing the marriage and legitimising its issue.

If the child was a girl, she would be a Princess like Mary but, because she was younger, she would come behind her and Mary thought that she would be able to accept a baby sister under those terms, even if that sister was Anne Boleyn's daughter. She would also be her father's daughter after all, and she could love her for that. However, if the child was a boy, he would become heir apparent the moment he was born. He would be named the Prince of Wales and he would cheat Mary out of the throne that God meant for her to inherit, just because he was born male.

It wasn't fair!

"I hope that woman never bears a son!" She muttered mutinously.

"Your Highness!" Lady Salisbury was scandalized and alarmed by this, looking around them, even though they were alone, as though she was afraid that somebody might overhear what Mary had said and report to her father that she had wished for him not to be able to get the son he craved from Anne, something that they both knew would make him very angry. "His Majesty would not like to hear you say such a thing, Princess," she said sternly. "Nor would the Queen."

Much as she hated to admit it, Mary had to acknowledge that this was true. It came as no surprise to her that her father would defend Anne against anybody who dared to say a word against her, she had him under her spell and he was so besotted with her that he could not see what she was truly like – if he knew, Mary was convinced that he would send her away and never, ever want to see her again – but she didn't like the fact that her mother would also have been unhappy to hear her express such a sentiment.

Her mother reproved her whenever she heard her speaking against Anne. Her mother never said a word against Anne; Mary had even heard her defend her when others spoke against her, always reminding people that Anne was the King's wife, just as she was, and that, as such, she should be treated with respect. Her mother even joined in the prayers that were said in the chapel every day for Anne to bear a strong, healthy son, even though she knew that if Anne bore a living son, Mary would no longer be the heir to the throne, as her mother had always told her she was meant to be.

It puzzled her at first, and she was hurt to think that her mother could betray her by praying for the birth of her rival, but then she realized the truth. Her mother loved her father. She loved him so much that, even though she did not like having to share her husband with Anne and she was not happy to think that Mary would be disinherited, she still wanted him to be happy.

If Anne's child was a boy, Mary knew that her mother would never try to argue that he was illegitimate or that he was not entitled to become Prince of Wales, and if somebody else said so, she would tell them that they were wrong to do so. She would never try to appeal to the Emperor so that he could put pressure on her father to declare that, as his only living child by his Queen, his true wife, Mary should come before all of his children by Anne, even if they were boys.

Anne's son would become the heir and Mary's mother would let him.

It wasn't fair!

* * *

**_2nd March 1530_ **

"Remember, if you make a mess of it this time, you may not get another chance." Brandon hissed at his wife as he guided her through the corridors of Whitehall Palace to Henry's presence chamber. "Henry won't be as willing to allow you back next time. All you need to do is to keep out of Anne's way and make sure that you don't do anything to upset her."

Margaret rolled her eyes. "She's going to be staying in her room until well after the baby is born. If I'm not going to see her, I can't upset her, can I?" She asked sarcastically.

She was under no illusions that she had been invited back to court because her brother wanted her back, much less because he regretted that he had dismissed her over her squabble with Anne last year. Whether Henry liked it or not, she was still a Princess of England, second in line to the throne after her young niece. With Anne expected to give birth to a royal child within a couple of weeks, her presence was required at the celebrations that would be staged in honour of the birth, celebrations that would undoubtedly be especially lavish if the child was the boy her brother hoped for. There would be gossip and rumours of rifts within the royal family if she was not invited to court for the festivities, even if she was not to be expected to be present for the birth itself.

She might have been there when Katherine's children were born – she was one of the first people permitted to hold Mary when she was born, and she was honoured and pleased to be asked to act as one of her niece's godmothers – but she had no desire to be there with Anne when she gave birth, and she suspected that Anne didn't want her to be there either.

"Just be careful." Brandon stressed, feeling worried despite Margaret's comment. He knew his wife well, knew that she had a temper and a tongue that could be loosened and become both careless and vicious when she was drinking, which she did frequently, despite his best efforts to persuade her to drink more sparingly, particularly in company. All it would take would be an ill-thought comment made in the hearing of Anne's family and supporters, or somebody who was reporting to them, or a suggestion that Margaret was hoping that the child would be born female or, worse still, dead and Henry would dismiss his sister from court again, this time permanently, and if that happened, it was likely that Brandon was going to have to accompany his wife into exile as punishment for his inability to control her, leaving him cut off from court and the King. "Watch your tongue and don't do anything that's going to make Henry suspect that you dislike Anne."

"He's not stupid." Her brother might be childish and wilfully blind at times but Margaret could at least acquit him of stupidity. "He knows that I dislike her."

"And if he gets a son, he'll be so happy that he'll be willing to forgive almost anything, even what happened last year, and to make himself believe that you've softened towards her, as long as you at least pretend that you're happy for them."

"I'm not." Margaret stated mulishly. She was fond of her little niece and was definitely not looking forward to seeing a son of Anne's, the grandson of Thomas Boleyn, a man she loathed, supplanting her as heir, nor was she looking forward to seeing how upset Katherine would be to see another woman succeed where she had failed. It had been bad enough when Lady Blount bore Henry's bastard son but it would be much worse this time. If Anne had a son, a son who would be legitimate under the law, then Henry would view that as proof that it was Katherine's fault that they had not had a son of their own. Knowing him, he would also deem it proof that he was right about their marriage being accursed, the absurd notion that he had seized on as a reason for ending his marriage and refused to let go of.

"Pretend that you are. If she gives him a son, then he will love her more than ever." Brandon pointed out, lowering his voice as they passed by a cluster of courtiers, not wanting people to overhear them, even though he was sure that Margaret's dislike of Anne was well known. The morning after she had slapped her at the reception in honour of the French ambassador, everybody at court had been speaking of it, and accounts of the incident had invariably become exaggerated, with some people insisting that a full-fledged cat fight had broken out, one that had required the husbands of both ladies to forcibly separate them. Nobody who knew Margaret would imagine for one moment that just under a year's exile had cured her of her dislike of Anne, or reconciled her to the idea of her brother's second wife taking precedence over her, even if it was technically Anne's right now. "Once she's done that, she could ask him to banish you from court, she could ask that I be stripped of my title or that Edward should be brought to court to be brought up here and Henry will give her whatever she wants. All she'll need to do is ask."

Margaret scowled, angry to know that this was likely to be true.

"She doesn't have anything against you at the moment – apart from what happened at the reception for the French ambassador," he amended, even though he was fairly sure that Anne was unlikely to hold a grudge against Margaret for that, even if she could not bring herself to forgive her for the incident. There were so many people who disliked Anne and who would be happy to see her fall that she couldn't possibly worry about all of them. If she dwelled on the issue, it was likely that she worried only about those who wielded enough influence to actually pose a threat to her position and Margaret was not one of them. "If you try to be civil to her, she'll respond to that and she won't go out of her way to try to turn Henry against you, or to work against our interests. She may even be able to help us if she wants to."

Before Margaret could respond to that, to retort that she would rather be banished from the court, this time permanently, or to see their titles and lands stripped from them, reducing them to penury, rather than having to rely on Anne's help and good will, they entered the Great Hall and she was forced to hold her tongue and leave the words unsaid. The courtiers parted to allow them to walk through to the presence chamber and, when they came towards the entrance, the chamberlain standing at the doorway banged his staff on the ground, alerting Henry and any lords who were with him to their approach.

"Their Graces the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk!" The chamberlain announced in a clear, carrying voice.

The Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Wiltshire were inside with Henry, together with Lord Rochford and Anthony Knivert. The latter gave them a broad smile of welcome but the other three men looked displeased to see Margaret there – understandable, given that they were Anne's relatives and knew exactly how Margaret felt about her.

Brandon bowed low in front of Henry, feeling relieved when Margaret curtsied deeply before him, instead of offering her brother a deliberate insult by refusing to do so.

"Your Grace." Henry gave Brandon a broad smile of welcome before looking at his sister, his expression chilling. "Margaret."

She gave him a wide, sweet smile, one that had never failed to charm her nurse or governess when she was a child, allowing her to get away with far more mischief than she should have. Even Henry was not proof against its charm and even without meeting his eyes, she could sense that her brother was softening, despite his best efforts to refrain from doing so. "Your Majesty."

"Welcome back to court, sister." Henry greeted her gravely. "We are pleased to see you here."

Margaret was very tempted to remind him that he had been the one who had banished her and why, and to point out that if he had wanted to see her at court, he could have invited her back at any moment but she managed to hold her tongue, knowing what would undoubtedly happen if she dared to say anything of the kind. She knew Henry well and knew that, while he could occasionally be amused or impressed by somebody standing up to him, which had been a rarity since he first became King, he was more likely to be irritated by it and, for all her bravado, she knew that her husband was right that they needed her brother's favour, for their own sakes and their son's.

"We are both looking forward to the birth of a prince with great anticipation." Brandon said, knowing that this was what Henry wanted to hear.

"As we all are." Boleyn spoke up, wanting to remind everybody present that he was the father of the young woman expected to bear the prince they all hoped for. When Anne bore a healthy son, he wanted to be sure that he was the first among the courtiers who reaped the rewards from it. The King would be generous if he was granted the boon he desired above all others, bestowing titles and land grants in honour of the prince's arrival and, as the prince's grandfather, he felt that it was only right that he should be the one to benefit most from his arrival.

Henry gave his father-in-law a quick smile, then rose from his throne, clapping Brandon on the shoulder. "I want you to begin to organize jousts, masques and banquets in honour of my son." He instructed him, smiling slightly at Brandon's visible pleasure at being singled out for such a task, one that would only be given to somebody who had Henry's trust and affection. "I want these celebrations to be the greatest anyone has seen in years. I want everybody to know how happy we are to have a prince at last."

Margaret raised an eyebrow, amused by Henry's confidence that the baby would be a boy.

For every single one of Katherine's pregnancies, Henry had been completely and utterly certain that a strong, healthy son awaited birth, so certain that he had ordered similar celebrations to those that Brandon was to arrange for this birth, and only one of the pregnancies had yielded the desired result... and even then, the baby boy was dead within a month, before the celebrations in honour of his arrival were over. The only child to survive was the child whose sex had been a disappointment, even if that disappointment was tempered by his delight in the fact that he had a healthy, living child at last.

Now he was equally confident that Anne was going to give him the son he craved.

Margaret might not have liked her sister-in-law but, even so, she couldn't help but feel a slight stirring of pity towards her at the thought of Henry's likely reaction if the child was a girl.

* * *

**_9th March 1530_ **

During the first week or so of her confinement, Anne stuck to her normal routine as much as possible, getting up at her usual time and dressing, sitting in her outer chamber with her ladies-in-waiting and the midwives, passing the hours by sewing, reading or receiving an occasional guest. Prayer also occupied a great deal of her time, as she beseeched God to bless her with the son she and Henry longed for. She had to take naps frequently but she resisted the gentle urging of her sister and the midwives that she should keep to her bed, taking advantage of the opportunity to rest as much as possible. They stressed that a time would soon come when she would long to have the chance to sleep but she did not want to retire to bed yet, preferring to stay up as long as possible.

However, despite having every intention to stay up, postponing the day when she would take to her bed for as long as possible, she was taking increasingly longer naps in the afternoons, spending far more time asleep than she did awake, and, much to her embarrassment, she seemed to be drifting off almost without warning.

When she fell asleep midway through Henry's visit, he didn't take offence. He simply smiled sympathetically, motioning for her ladies to leave her be when they moved to wake her up, and then he gently picked her up to carry her through to her bedchamber, allowing Lady Mary Carey to precede him so that she could fold back the sheets and the covers to allow him to set Anne on the bed. He had tucked her in and was ready to rise to leave when he felt Anne's hand slip through his, her fingers tightening around his.

"Stay." She insisted sleepily, opening her eyes with great effort and looking up at him. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, sweetheart." Henry told her truthfully, brushing her hair away from her face and leaning forward to give her a tender kiss. Although he certainly did not begrudge his wife the rest she needed in order to fortify herself for her upcoming labour, he couldn't deny that he missed her company. Even though he visited every day, spending as much time as he could amusing Anne and helping to make her confinement as bearable as possible, and even though he checked in on her while she was sleeping, just to be certain that all was well with her, it was no substitute for having her company outside her rooms, during his leisure hours, as he had been accustomed to before, and his duties as King occupied so much of his time that he was obliged to be away from her far more than he liked. "But you know that it's going to be worth it in the end."

"I know." She responded quietly. She wasn't able to infuse the same enthusiasm in her tone as Henry had in his and she hoped that he would put it down to tiredness on her part.

"I've been trying to decide on the baby's name," he added in a more cheerful tone, stroking her hand gently as he spoke, thinking that Anne looked exhausted and hoping that the caress might help to soothe her back to sleep. "Have you any preference? There's Henry, for me and for my father, or Edward for my grandfather – that can be a lucky name for English Kings, you know." When King Francis' second son was born, he had had the boy christened Henri but Henry didn't intend to repay the compliment by naming his son in honour of the King of France, even if he did plan to ask him to be the baby's godfather, charging the French ambassador with the honour of holding the Prince over the font when he was christened.

It would certainly put the Emperor's nose out of joint to know that the King of France had been chosen for the honour ahead of the Emperor of Spain, and that was no more than he deserved, after the way he had interfered in order to keep Henry from annulling his marriage to Katherine, robbing his son's mother of the title of Queen, the title that should be hers now.

Anne nodded in response, trying to smile but it didn't reach her eyes. "Those are good names." She agreed softly. However, she couldn't hide the hint of fear in her eyes and this time, Henry didn't miss it.

"Sweetheart, what is it?" He asked, worried. "You're not feeling sick or anything, are you? Because if you are, you need to tell me right away. It's not something that you should try to be brave about; we can't take any chances with your health." He touched her swollen belly and was relieved when he felt a strong kick from the child within, reassuring him that he was alive and healthy.

"It's nothing, it's just..." Anne hesitated for a long time before speaking, weighing the pros and cons of continuing. She doubted that it was something that Henry wanted to hear but she didn't think that she would be able to feel fully at ease until she voiced her fear. At least once it was out in the open, some small part of the weight would be lifted from her shoulders. "What if the baby is a girl?" She asked directly, meeting his eyes. "What if I'm carrying our daughter, not our son?"

One of the midwives had told her that expectant mothers often knew in their hearts whether they were carrying a boy or a girl, as though God granted special knowledge to mothers-to-be that he withheld from the rest of the world but Anne could get no sense of the sex of the child she carried, no inkling as to whether she would soon be holding a son in her arms, or a daughter.

If it was a girl, she could expect her father to be furious with her, even if a strong daughter would prove that she was fertile and could bear healthy children, and half the court would be laughing at her behind her back, amused by the fact that, after all the trouble Henry had gone to in order to make her his legal wife instead of contenting himself with making her his mistress, as many would have expected him to, she could only make him the father of a second daughter.

Henry was taken aback by her words, she could tell that much by looking at him. It was obvious at a glance that this was a possibility that he had not seriously considered, and one that he found far from pleasing. Almost as soon as she had spoken the words, she wished that she could call them back, to pretend that she shared Henry's conviction that their son awaited birth and that he would be with them within a matter of days, a week at the most, but she couldn't unsay what she had said.

Henry was quiet for a few moments, taken aback by Anne's words but, when he saw the wary expression in her eyes, he made himself smile, for her sake. "Come here." He said quietly, gently pulling her into his arms and hugging her close, feeling her body relax in his embrace. He held her for a few minutes before releasing her, studying her face closely. "How long have you been worried about this?" She didn't need to voice an answer; her face told him that the fear had been preying on her for quite some time. "My poor darling, you should have _told_ me if you were afraid." He reproved her mildly. "You know that you shouldn't be worrying about anything or becoming distressed, not so close to your time. It's not good for you or for the baby."

"I know."

His instinct was to reassure her that there was no way that the child she carried was not the son they both hoped for and he berated himself inwardly for not having consulted a soothsayer or astrologer, one with experience of foretelling such things successfully, who might have been able to soothe Anne's worries by assuring her that their son awaited birth.

While it was true that he had endured disappointment after disappointment with Katherine, with only one child out of seven surviving, and that child a girl, that was a different matter altogether. But for the fact that their marriage was invalid and accursed, he was certain that he and Katherine would be the proud parents of at least several healthy, sturdy princes by now. Their eldest would probably be almost old enough to marry by now. Despite the admittedly unorthodox circumstances of his marriage to Anne, there was no doubt in his mind that their union was one that was blessed by Heaven, and he was therefore certain that God would bless them with a strong, healthy son, a prince who would keep England safe from civil war and who would ensure that the Tudor line would endure... however, he didn't think that he would be able to convince Anne of that, not fully.

A part of him was starting to doubt it himself, even though he did his best to quash those doubts.

He sat down on the bed, putting an arm around her. "My mother was one of ten children, sweetheart," he began, smiling slightly at the memory of his beautiful, kind and gentle mother, Elizabeth of York. "She was the firstborn, and then there were another two girls after her before my grandparents' first son was born." The fifth King Edward, the boy king who had been brought to the Tower and who was never seen again, who was likely to have been murdered... Henry quickly banished thoughts of his young uncle from his mind, focusing on the story. He also tried to ignore the fact that his father had been his grandmother's only child; had he been born a girl, the Tudor line would never have ruled over England. "And later there were other sons. If it is a girl this time, boys will follow. We'll just need to be patient a little longer, that's all. It would not be the end of the world. We're both young, we have plenty of time for children. Besides," he added with an encouraging smile, kissing the tip of Anne's nose. "If we have a daughter, I'm sure that she'll be just as beautiful as her mother, and every prince in Europe will want to marry her. If it does happen, we can wait another year for her brother to be born."

Although she was not entirely convinced that Henry would be as willing to accept the birth of a daughter as his words would indicate, Anne relaxed a little, allowing herself to be reassured by what he was saying.

If the baby was a girl, she couldn't change that fact, regardless of whether or not Henry would be able to accept their daughter's sex.

The baby's sex was out of her hands.

All she could do was wait.

* * *

**_11th March 1530_ **

Anne went into labour in the late afternoon.

Her pains began during Henry's visit, as he was describing the gold font that King Francis had sent for their son's christening, and her ladies and the midwives sprang into action, fetching hot water, clean linens and birthing instruments, and sending a message to Dr Linacre, letting him know that the birth was imminent, so that he could be prepared to step in at a moment's notice if there was any kind of complication that would require his assistance.

He might have been the King of England but Henry still found himself unceremoniously bundled out of Anne's apartments by one of the midwives, who completely ignored his suggestions that he might be allowed to stay with her, at least for a little while. A birthing chamber was no place for a man. This was work that was best left in the hands of women.

"They'd never let you watch it, Your Majesty," Knivert spoke up when he joined Henry in his own apartments, keeping his tone as cheerful as possible. "If men could see what it was like for a woman to bring a baby into the world, they'd never touch their wives again, and then where would we be?"

Henry frowned darkly at his words, his eyes widening in alarm when he heard Anne cry out, her screams audible even from her own apartment.

Perhaps this was part of the reason why the King's apartments and the Queen's were set so far apart.

"Henry," As a rule, Brandon avoided using his friend's first name, always conscious of the respect due to him as King, but today was not a day for titles. He filled a goblet with wine, pressing it into Henry's hand. "It's going to be hours before the baby is born. It's her first time; chances are that it'll take longer." He added, remembering what the midwife tending to Margaret when Edward was born had told him when he was banished from the birthing chamber. "Drink – or eat something. You'll need to keep up your energy."

Henry accepted the goblet but he didn't drink the wine. He was listening intently to the sounds coming from Anne's apartment and Brandon suspected that, even if the midwives had banned Henry from Anne's presence, distracting him would be far easier said than done.

His thoughts were with his wife and he would not be able to relax until the child was born and he knew that Anne was safe.

* * *

**_12th March 1530_ **

Despite the comforting assurances from the midwives that Anne was bearing up as well as she could possibly be expected to under the circumstances and that, although her labour had been a long one, it looked as though the birth would happen within a couple of hours more, Henry couldn't relax, despite the best efforts of both Brandon and Knivert to distract him. he had long since abandoned his own apartment in favour of waiting in the gallery that connected his quarters to Anne's, hovering near her door, ready to run in to her in a moment if she called out for him, no matter what the midwives and her ladies had to say about it!

Through the long glazed windows, he could see the first grey lights of dawn appearing in the sky.

"She's been in labour all night!" He said, speaking more to himself than to anybody else, feeling his heart clench in his chest as Anne's scream echoed through the gallery, audible even through the heavy door separating her apartment from the gallery.

"Henry, there's nothing that you can do for her now." Brandon tried to coax him away from the gallery, into his own apartments where the sounds would be muffled somewhat, at least, or preferably away from this part of the palace altogether, somewhere where he wouldn't be able to hear Anne, but Henry would not be budged. "She has the best possible care." He reminded him, thinking that, while a huge fuss was always made of tending to the mother-to-be, in situations like this – and rightly so, of course – it would be helpful if there was some kind of arrangement that could be made for the father-to-be away as well, to get him safely out of the way until his child was born.

Henry didn't answer. He didn't even seem to hear the question.

"At least you can still hear her." Knivert piped up, wanting to be able to find something consoling to say. His words got Henry's attention and he quailed slightly when he saw his friend fix him with an angry glare, as though he suspected that Knivert might be mocking Anne's sufferings in childbed. He hastened to elaborate. "If she's strong enough to yell like that, she's strong enough to get through this." He pointed out.

As though to prove the truth of his words, Anne's next scream seemed to be her loudest yet, reverberating through the gallery.

If they strained their ears, they could hear the encouraging words of Anne's ladies-in-waiting, together with the midwives, as they urged her to push, reassuring her that it would not be much longer now.

Later, Brandon and Knivert would both assure him that only a matter of minutes passed between Anne's scream and the next sound they heard but, at the time, it felt like hours to Henry, hours in which he strained to hear what was happening within the room, worried that there was no further noise from Anne but, after that, his vigilance was rewarded with another sound, and a very welcome one.

The loud, indignant wail of a baby forced from its warm nest into a world that eagerly awaited it.


	11. Chapter Ten

**_12th March 1530_ **

Nobody needed to come to tell Katherine the child's sex.

The roar of cannon fire, the pealing of church bells and the sounds of cheers coming from the streets once the people realized the sex of the new royal infant gave her the news more eloquently than any messenger Henry sent could have – if he had been willing to take the trouble of sending her a message instead of leaving her to hear the news second- or third-hand, that is.

Anne had had a son.

Anne had given Henry the living son he had craved since the day Katherine married him, the son that most of the court and the country were eagerly anticipating and the son for whose sake Henry was willing to set aside his marriage to Katherine, despite its long duration and despite the fact that doing so would brand their beloved daughter a bastard, until the pope had made the offer that enabled him to marry Anne without having to dissolve his first marriage. But for that offer, Henry would have continued to push for an annulment until he was granted one and Katherine couldn't help but think that, despite the power of her nephew, despite the fact that theirs was a union that was sanctioned by papal dispensation and therefore holy and beyond reproach, if he was determined enough, Henry might have managed to prevail upon the pope to dissolve their marriage.

Even though Katherine was still the Queen, Anne was the one who had just borne the future Prince of Wales and King of England, the son that should have been born to her. When her parents first arranged her marriage to Prince Arthur, it was their hope that would bear him an heir, giving them a grandson who would one day rule over England, Wales and Ireland, tying those countries to Spain by the crimson cord of blood, an almost indissoluble tie. They knew that if this could be achieved, if the Kings of England and of Spain were to be kin, then it was very likely that they would be allies, standing together against France, mutual enemy of both countries.

When Mary was born and proved to be her only living child, it felt as though God was showing a way in which the country of Katherine's birth and her adopted country could be tied even more closely together than even her parents had initially hoped; if Mary married the Emperor, then the eldest son of their union would one day inherit the territories of both his parents, merging them into a vast, combined empire. Even Henry would surely be able to become reconciled to their lack of a son if it meant that a grandson of his would one day become the most powerful ruler in Christendom by far.

But now that dream was over. Anne had given Henry his son, one who might prove to be the first of many sons, all of whom would stand between Mary and the throne. Those sons would be of pure English blood, with no kin ties to Spain. If anything, their mother was likely to influence them to favour the idea of an alliance with France, an alliance that would mean that Katherine's nephew and her home country could be threatened by the country that had once welcomed her so warmly, the country whose people still loved her.

If that happened, she would have failed utterly in her duty to Spain and to England, countries that should be tied by the bonds of friendship and family instead of set against one another.

She didn't want to let anybody see how she felt when she heard the news but, despite her resolve to conceal her emotions, as a Queen should, and not to allow anybody, even her ladies, to see that she was unhappy about what had happened, she couldn't prevent a strangled sob from escaping at the knowledge that another woman had succeeded where she had failed, giving Henry and England the strong male heir that should have been born from her womb.

Despite the fact that she had resolved not to question it, to believe that if God chose to give Anne a son, He must have His reasons for it and that it must mean that He, in His infinite wisdom, knew that it was better this way, she couldn't keep herself from feeling a moment of doubt, wondering why, when He had not answered her fervent prayers over the years of her marriage, choosing to withhold the son she pleaded with Him for, He should grant that blessing to Anne instead.

Why would He think that this was what was best?

To doubt God's will was a sin, almost akin to heresy, and she would need to do penance for her doubts but despite her determination to accept this, to believe that it was for the best and to pray for the strength to banish her feelings of disappointment and dismay, the questions still reverberated in her mind.

Why?

Why Anne and not her?

Why this new baby and not Mary?

Even though she knew that Henry was guaranteed to be in Anne's apartments now, making his delight and pride over the fact that she had borne a boy plain and lavishing her with affection, gratitude and praise for it, ecstatically promising that he would never be able to thank her enough for giving him an heir – words he once addressed to Katherine, after the birth of their sweet little boy – and even though she was well aware of the fact that Anne's quarters were intentionally placed so far from hers as to make it impossible for her to hear anything that happened there, for a moment, Katherine imagined that she could hear Henry's delighted voice as he exulted over the fact that he was the father of a living son at last.

A living son.

The son she bore in the first year of her marriage to Henry, the little prince whose birth was greeted with such joy by the whole country, would be almost fifteen now, if he had lived, a young man, one that she was sure that Henry would have been proud of and one that she was sure she would have loved just as much as she loved her darling Mary.

She could still remember what it was like to feel the tiny, delicate hand curl around her finger, gripping tightly as he dozed. She could remember the warm weight of his little body nestled in the crook of her arm and the silkiness of the downy hair that sparsely covered his fragile skull.

They were only allowed to keep him for such a short time before God took him back again.

He would be of marriageable age now and the question of who his bride was to be would surely be one of paramount importance. If he had lived, Katherine thought that she would be trying to help Henry select which of the princesses of Europe, and she thought that she would have liked a daughter-in-law of Spanish blood, would be a lovely and loving bride to her son and that she would be looking forward to grandchildren, instead of knowing that her husband's other wife – would she ever become truly accustomed to thinking of Anne in those terms? – had just borne him a long-hoped for son.

If her son had lived… but he had not. Wishing that he had would change nothing.

She couldn't change the past. She couldn't change the fact that she had lost her baby boy, she couldn't change the fact that Henry had decided, after so many years together, so many happy years of mutual respect and affection, that their lack of a living son indicated that their marriage was accursed – and if he believed that this was true, if he believed that she had lied about her virginity and that this lie rendered their marriage accursed, then it could only mean that he believed that she had caused their son's death, and the deaths of the other children who were born dead, a thought that caused her almost unbearable pain; when they lost their children, Henry shared in her grief and comforted her but now he sought to blame her for their loss. She couldn't change the fact that Henry had secured permission to marry Anne, that he was only willing to treat Anne as a wife while he ignored her as much as he possibly could and she couldn't change the fact that Anne had just produced the son he wanted and that Anne's son would now supplant her Mary as heir to the throne, with no man in the country willing to argue that this should not be the case.

Her ladies-in-waiting all avoided meeting her gaze, each of them knowing what this birth meant and how their mistress was likely to feel about it. She didn't doubt that most, if not all of them were grieved to know that she had just suffered a setback, though there was a time when she would have doubted whether English ladies would ever truly be loyal enough to her for that.

When Katherine first arrived from Spain to be Arthur's bride, she brought with her a retinue of attendants befitting her rank, including a household of ladies-in-waiting and maids of honour of her own age, or thereabouts, girls of good family whose families hoped they would be able to find good husbands among the noblemen of England.

Although some of them were recalled by their families after Arthur's death, with their relatives fearing that they would put their daughter's futures in jeopardy by tying them to an unwanted widow left between two Kings squabbling over questions of dowry and jointure, along with who should be responsible for her upkeep, a widow who seemed unlikely to be able to arrange advantageous marriages or to furnish suitable dowries for her attendants and thinking that they would be better off if they returned to Spain, but others stayed with her, sharing her years of isolation, uncertainty and penury out of love for her and, when she was finally able to marry Henry, when she finally became Queen of England, as she always knew she was born to be, the Spanish ladies who had been with her for so long became her chief attendants.

In time, they were joined by English ladies – as was fitting for the Queen of England, who could not surround herself exclusively with foreign-born attendants – and those ladies who had once ignored her when it was thought unlikely that Henry the Seventh would ever agree to a marriage between his only living son, his precious heir, and the Spanish princess who became a less desirable bride with each passing year and with each indication that relations between her father and the King of England were cooling, were only too eager to seek places in her household once she wore the Queen's crown and they could benefit from their appointments, but it was her Spanish ladies that Katherine trusted above the others, the ones she could confide in and let down her guard with, even if only a little.

Over the years of her marriage, Cardinal Wolsey, both disliking the idea of a Spanish alliance and wanting to place ladies of his own choice in the Queen's household, ladies who would report Katherine's activities to him, enabling him to know more about what happened in the Queen's rooms than any other man at court, had dismissed her Spanish ladies one by one, on some pretext or another, sometimes citing the need to economize, sometimes manufacturing reasons why the lady in question was unworthy of a place in the Queen's household and why she should be replaced by a good English lady.

In the early years, Henry usually sided with her when she appealed to him to be allowed to retain the services of one of her ladies, agreeing that she could keep the lady in question with her if it pleased her to do so, with Wolsey knowing better than to press the issue and being obliged to yield, much to his own dismay and disgust, as his pride balked at the thought of yielding to anybody, even to the Queen of England herself but, as the years passed, Henry began to listen to Wolsey more and more, to listen to her less and less and her Spanish attendants, her friends, gradually melted away from her household, some of them finding English husbands, which at least allowed them to visit the court occasionally so that she might see them, and others being packed back to Spain, as though their long years of loyal service counted for nothing.

The last of them were dismissed shortly after the elevation of Henry's bastard son, and Mary being sent away to the Welsh Marches. Katherine made her unhappiness at both events plain to Wolsey, convinced that the cardinal had encouraged Henry to elevate young Fitzroy – Wolsey's godson – as heir instead of Mary, and that he had suggested that Mary be sent away to Ludlow because he knew that losing her child would distress her more than anything else ever could. She was far from surprised when the last two Spanish ladies in her retinue, ladies who had been with her for many years and whom she counted as true, loyal friends, were displaced by English ladies, Wolsey's way of punishing her for her angry words and, more importantly, of making it clear to her that it was a mistake on her part to make an enemy of him.

She might have been Queen but he had Henry's ear and he had the power to make her life more difficult and more unpleasant if he chose to do so.

When Henry married Anne, Katherine anticipated that most, if not all of her attendants would recognize that, despite the fact that the younger woman was titled Princess Consort rather than Queen, she was the rising star, the one whose attendants would derive far greater benefits from her service than Katherine would ever be able to offer them and she steeled herself against the possibility that her ladies would seek to leave her service in droves, so that they could seek places in Anne's household instead, while they had the chance, rather than remaining tied to her.

However, she was pleasantly surprised when few of her attendants seemed to have the slightest interest in exchanging her service for Anne's, while others stood firm against their families' encouragement that they should explore the possibility of transferring to Anne's household, if the new Princess Consort could be persuaded to accept their service. She had not expected that they would be so loyal to her but she was pleased to be proven wrong and to see that, even when her husband neglected her as much as she could, making it plain that he did not consider her to be either his wife or the rightful Queen of England, she could still rely on the loyalty and devotion of her attendants.

Most of them knew Anne, who had briefly served as lady-in-waiting alongside them before she was excused from her duties in Katherine's household and given her own apartments and a small retinue of her own, at Henry's orders, but Anne did not seem to have won their liking or their respect and they had no inclination to serve her, even if she was the favoured wife, even if her ladies were the ones who would be at the centre of court revels, more likely to mix with the gentlemen of the court and to make good marriages.

They preferred to stay with Katherine.

There was no hint of spite, gloating or satisfaction in the eyes of any of her ladies now. They all knew what this birth meant to her, as well as to Mary, whom they were very fond of, but that did not alter their loyalty towards her. She could see them casting sympathetic glances in her direction and knew that they were all wondering what they should do for her now, wondering if she would welcome it if they were to say something comforting, if it would be fitting for them to express sympathy at this setback – especially when they knew how important the birth of a legitimate prince, even a legitimate prince who was not the son of the Queen, would be for the whole country – or if Katherine would be prepared to accept their sympathy or their comfort.

It was very tempting.

For a moment, Katherine wanted nothing more than to be able to weep, to hear her attendants consoling her, even if there was little they could say to make her feel better about what happened, and to accept their soothing words and assurances that, somehow, all would be well but she could not bring herself to show such weakness in front of them.

She was the Queen of England but, more than that, she was the daughter of Isabella of Castile, whom nobody could deny was a formidable woman, as capable a ruler as any man and more capable than most.

Her mother would never have shed a tear before anybody, from her attendants to the troops she commanded as ably as the most skilled general to her own husband and family. She would never have wept, no matter how devastating a setback she was faced with, no matter how acute her disappointment or her humiliation and she would not have been pleased to see any of her daughters do any less than to follow her example, concealing their emotions as she always had.

Thinking of her mother kept Katherine's tears from flowing, allowing her to smooth her features into a pleasant smile, as though this news was welcome to her, as though there had never been a part of her that prayed that the baby would be a daughter, a little sister for Mary, one she hoped that her daughter would welcome and love but one who would never usurp her place.

Tears and regrets would accomplish nothing.

She was the Queen of England.

She was Isabella's daughter.

She would show them all that she had her mother's strength.

* * *

When the midwife first placed his newborn son in his waiting arms, Henry hadn't expected him to feel as heavy as he did but he was relieved to feel the solid weight in his arms and to feel the baby wriggle, relieved to know that this baby was a strong child, likely to live and to thrive and to grow to be a fine man one day, not a frail weakling who might catch a cold or some trifling ailment and die of it, before he had even had a chance to live. The tiny, clenched fists flailed as his son wailed at the full pitch of healthy lungs, making his presence known to the world into which he had just been born, letting them all know that he was here and that he had every intention of staying.

His eyes were blue, shaded by long, dark eyelashes, already alert and taking notice of the world around him as he stared at everybody at everything, his cheeks were plump and pink instead of pale and hollow and the small, delicate skull was already crowned with a thick head of fair hair, gleaming gold in the firelight.

He was perfect.

Henry kissed the baby's cheek gently before allowing one of the midwives to take him, warning her to be careful of the precious bundle in her arms and waiting for her solemn answering nod before he was willing to entrust his son to her, and then he moved to crouch by the head of Anne's bed, taking her hand in his and kissing it, over and over again. "You did it, my love." He praised her, moving to kiss her forehead, cheeks and lips, keeping her hand in his. "We have our beautiful, healthy son. Our son." He repeated the words slowly, savouring them.

He had waited far too long to say it, so long that it seemed like a miracle to be able to say those words now.

When Anne's screaming stopped, when he heard the baby cry and, more importantly, didn't hear any expression of alarm from the midwives or any sudden bustle of activity that would indicate that Anne was in any difficulty or danger, Henry was so relieved to know that his wife had come through the ordeal of labour safely and that they had a living child that he would not have been too disappointed if the child was a girl, inwardly repeating his words to Anne that, if they did have a daughter, he would welcome her and be happy to have a healthy baby girl, content to wait another year for her brother.

If Anne was alive, if she was safe, then he would be happy to welcome a daughter and to thank God for sparing mother and child, knowing that he would much rather have a daughter whose mother came through her birth safely than a son whose arrival cost Anne's life.

Then they told him that the baby was a son, a strong, healthy son, and that mother and child were both doing well.

In that moment, he felt like the most fortunate man in the world, a man that God had blessed with both a beautiful, loving and captivating wife and with a fine, healthy son.

He and Anne had their boy now, and their boy would show England and all of Europe that he had done the right thing by marrying her. The people might have been slower to welcome the Princess Consort than he would have hoped, obstinately cleaving to Katherine, the woman they had viewed as their Queen for so long and whom they were loathe to see replaced by another woman, particularly one born a commoner but that would all change now. Everybody in the country would know how important this birth was for them and how much they owed Anne for providing them with the stability that a healthy prince and the prospect of an unbroken line of Tudor Kings would bring them.

Now, nobody could possibly doubt the truth of his words when he said that his marriage to Katherine was accursed, and that this curse had stolen the lives of the sons he should have had. How could anybody fail to see the hand of God in the many children they had lost? How could he have failed to see it for so long, remaining tied to Katherine, living in a state of sin, for years, never realizing why his prayers for a living son went unanswered?

In all the years they were married, Katherine conceived many times, carrying seven of those pregnancies to term, or almost, and all they had to show for their efforts in the marriage bed was a single living daughter – a clever daughter and a daughter that he loved very much, Henry did not deny that, but a daughter who would never be fit to rule England, because of her feminine frailty and, more than that, because she was a bastard in all but name and no true heir, no heir blessed by Heaven – whereas Anne, less than a fortnight after the first anniversary of their marriage, had succeeded in giving him this fine boy.

How would he ever be able to thank her enough for this?

Anne was exhausted and very sore after her long labour, even after the bitter-tasting dose given to her to dull the pain, barely able to focus on Henry's words. Even keeping her eyes open seemed to require a tremendous effort on her part, with her eyelids growing heavier and heavier with every passing minute. Her father, her brother, her sister, her uncle, Cardinal Wolsey, many others... they all came to congratulate her on the safe arrival of a healthy son, all kissing her hand or her cheek as they assured her that the new little prince was the finest child that they had ever seen, as strong a child as any mother could wish for, but she could only muster faint smiles in response to their words, too tired to force her tongue to speak the words of thanks she knew the situation demanded of her. Even for Henry, she could only muster the strength for a few words.

"Who does he look like?" She asked sleepily. One of the midwives had begun to ask her whether or not she wanted to hold the baby and, if she had, Anne would have said yes but, when the other woman saw how drained she was after giving birth, she thought better of asking, not wanting to take the risk that she might be too tired to hold her new son securely. They told her that he was strong and healthy, repeating the words often, but nobody had described his appearance to her, nobody told her whether his hair was dark or fair, if he was plump or lean, if his features favoured Henry or her, or if he was a throwback to one of his ancestors.

"I think that he has a look of the King about him, Your Majesty." Wolsey answered before Henry could, giving Anne one of the warm, almost paternal smiles he usually favoured her with.

His pleasure at this birth was genuine, and it was heightened by the knowledge that Katherine, who was foolish enough to declare him to be her enemy and to seek to work against him by urging a Spanish alliance when she knew well that he was working towards a friendship between England and France, would be devastated to know that her hopes that her half-Spanish daughter would ever sit on the throne of England had just been dealt a heavy blow, one that was hopefully heavy enough to ensure that they would not recover from it.

It was far from unheard of for children to die in their infancy but this child was clearly strong and healthy, a fine baby boy who would grow to be a strong man one day, like his father.

More importantly, however, he knew that the people would rejoice to know that their King had a son at last, even if they would have preferred that son to be born to Queen Katherine. They had waited for a Prince of Wales for so long that they would not be overly fussy about the identity of the child's mother, contenting themselves with the knowledge that the country was now safe from the threat of civil war. They would be thankful to Anne for delivering them from that threat and it was Wolsey's hope that, in their joy over the birth of a strong, healthy prince, they would forget the resentment they harboured towards him for what they saw as the part he had played in the King's decision to annul his marriage to Queen Katherine, and later in his decision to take Anne as his second wife. Once there was a prince, they would know that it was all worth it.

With the birth of this child, Anne's position in Henry's affections would also be cemented and, given her sympathies towards France, her wish for her home country and the country in which she had spent so much of her childhood and girlhood to enjoy warm relations and the likelihood that she would hope for a French princess as the little Prince's future bride, Wolsey would not object to this, or to her enjoying a measure of influence over Henry. If he was listening to Anne, at least that would mean that he was not listening to Katherine. Anne's religious views might give him some cause for concern but they agreed on many things when it came to international politics.

Anne managed a faint smile for the cardinal, too relieved by the knowledge that her child was alive, healthy and male to worry unduly about her relatives' enmity towards him. At least Wolsey was not one of the courtiers who preferred Katherine to her, and who would have snubbed her in favour of the other woman if they dared to do so. "Does he?" She asked, yawning deeply, her eyes beginning to drift closed. She liked the idea of their son looking like Henry.

"You're tired, my darling." Henry said tenderly, kissing Anne's hand again and stroking her hair. "You should sleep. I'll stay here with you until you do."

Boleyn watched the scene before him with satisfaction for a few moments, pleased to see the King's obvious love for Anne and his delight at the birth of the infant prince, before nodding for Norfolk and for George to accompany him out into the outer chamber, out of earshot of Anne and the King. There was a carafe of wine and several goblets set on one of the side tables and he poured out wine for the three of them, raising his glass in toast.

"To the Prince." He toasted with a smile, as aware as the others that the birth of his new grandson was guaranteed to improve their standing at court and in the King's inner circle, with them deriving as much benefit from this as they had from the King's love for Anne, if not more. "And to Anne for giving him to us."

"To the Boleyns!" George's toast was more exuberant than his father's had been but, when he saw his uncle's slight frown, he hastened to qualify it. "And to the Howards, of course."

Fortunately, Norfolk was too pleased about the birth of a healthy prince with Howard blood to be unduly troubled by his nephew's slip. "I dare say that this is news that will displease more than one person at court," he remarked, smirking at the thought of how Katherine's supporters were likely to react to this news, not to mention Katherine herself.

"The Queen will not be pleased." Boleyn observed unnecessarily, with a thin smile, wondering who would be the one to give the news of Anne's success to Katherine and to her daughter. He almost wished that he could be the one to stand before Katherine, the woman who had refused to behave sensibly by retiring to a convent when she had the chance to do so, which would have allowed Anne to wear the Queen's crown now, as she ought to by all rights, and tell her of the birth of his new grandson, the boy who would inherit the throne she craved on her daughter's behalf. "And Madam Mary's nose will certainly be knocked out of joint when she learns of this."

There were few people at court who were unaware of the young princess' dislike of Anne, or of how much the girl resented the idea of her father's second wife providing her with a half-brother who would usurp her place as heir to the throne. She had certainly made no secret of it. They had all seen Mary's obstinate refusal to join in the prayers that were said on a daily basis for Anne's safe delivery and for a strong, healthy prince before the birth, along with the cold, angry expression that seemed to be constantly on her face whenever she looked at her stepmother, deeply resenting her and too stubborn to see that she should be thankful for the fact that she was still allowed to call herself a Princess of England, instead of being declared a bastard, perhaps renamed Lady Mary Fitzroy, as she ought to be.

Boleyn privately considered that Mary was justly served for her previous rudeness now that she had a brother who would be Prince of Wales.

The other two men nodded, sharing smiles of satisfaction as they clinked their goblets together, toasting Prince, Princess Consort and, most of all, their own futures, which looked rosier than ever.

* * *

By the time Katherine reached Mary's apartments and saw her daughter, she knew that she had heard the news already. She had hoped that she would be able to tell Mary herself, hoped that she might have slept through the excitement of the birth and not heard about it yet and that she would be able to break the news to her child as gently as anybody possibly could, couching it in the most optimistic terms she could manage to come up with and persuading her that this was not the disaster she surely believed it to be but when she entered the room to see Mary's angry, tear-stained face, she knew that she was too late.

Somebody else had got there first.

Lady Salisbury's face reflected her discomfort as she curtsied deeply, her tone apologetic as she explained. "The noise of the cannons and bells woke the Princess at dawn and I thought it best to tell her of the new prince's birth myself, Your Majesty," she explained, looking warily at Katherine, afraid that she would be angry with her for taking it upon herself to give the child the news of her half-brother's arrival before Mary's mother had given her permission to do so, or had a chance to let her know how she wished the news to be broken to the child, whether she wanted to do so herself or to delegate the task to the governess. "There is so much celebration going on over the birth that I feared that the Princess would hear that a prince had been born through that, or from somebody running to tell us, and I thought that she should hear it from somebody she trusts instead." She said.

Knowing that she would have much preferred to hear the news from somebody whom she could feel sure was a friend to her, somebody who would be genuinely concerned over her reaction and who would not want her to be pained by the news, instead of being left to work out what had happened for herself based on the noise of the celebrations, Katherine gave her daughter's governess a half-hearted smile before dismissing her, grateful that she had tried to make matters easier for Mary, even if she could only do a little to help in that regard, and letting the other woman know that she did not object to her decision, knowing that it was one made for Mary's good. She shuddered to think how Mary might have reacted had Lord Wiltshire, a man who could be very cruel and spiteful when he chose, had come to tell her of the news of his daughter's triumph and the arrival of his grandson himself.

"Thank you, Lady Salisbury, it was kind of you to think of that." She told her gently. "You may be excused for the present; I would speak to the Princess alone."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Lady Salisbury curtsied deeply a second time before backing out of the room, an example that Mary's other attendants swiftly followed.

Mary was curled up on a cushioned window seat, still clad in her nightgown as she had refused to allow her attendants to set out one of her best court gowns for her or help her don it for the celebrations she had no intention of attending, tears shining in her dark eyes. She had a handkerchief clutched in one hand, twisting the cloth around her fingers and squeezing it tightly in an effort to keep the tears at bay. When her mother came to sit down next to her, gently placing her arms around her heaving shoulders, she leaned into her embrace, grateful for the comfort of her mother's presence and her slight body shook with silent sobs.

"Oh, my darling daughter," It was all that Katherine could say at first. She felt so helpless, faced with her beloved child's distress and, for a while, she wasn't sure what she ought to say to Mary, what words she could possibly find that would soften this blow. Just as there was nothing her ladies could have said to her that would be a comfort, she was at a loss as to what to tell Mary.

She couldn't tell her daughter that this would not change things for her, that simply wasn't true and she couldn't lie to the child by pretending that it was.

The moment Anne's son entered the world, he supplanted Mary as heir to the throne, automatically taking precedence over his much older sister by virtue of his being male and there was nothing that could be done about that – she could imagine how appalled Henry, his Council, Parliament and the people would be if she even suggested that the law should be changed in order to allow the monarch's children to inherit in order of their births, irrespective of their sex. There wouldn't be a man in the kingdom who would support such a proposal.

Once Anne's son was born, Mary lost her inheritance but perhaps the birth was not without benefit for her, as her position as princess was safe now, or at least as safe as it could be with Henry persisting in his conviction that their daughter was illegitimate in all but name.

"Why did He do it, Mama?" Mary asked at last, her tone almost indignant. At first, Katherine thought that she meant Henry and was framing an explanation for her husband's near-obsessive need to become the father of a son and the reasons why he had not been able to accept that their daughter was the only heir he would ever need but Mary didn't mean her father. "Why did God let _her_ have a son?"

"The Princess Consort, sweetheart." Katherine corrected her mildly, stressing Anne's title. "That is her proper title, and how you should refer to her, in public and even when you are in your own rooms. And if God chose to grant the Princess Consort a son, we must believe that He had His reasons for wanting to do so, even if we cannot understand those reasons." She said something very similar the day Henry married Anne, almost as a way of preparing herself and her daughter for this moment and she had to believe that this was true, no matter how difficult it was for her to accept. If God gave Anne a son, if He wished for that son to become King of England one day, then it must be His wish that Mary should not become Queen… even if she could not imagine why He would ever want anybody but her daughter to rule England.

"Maybe it wasn't God." Mary suggested, balling her handkerchief in her fist, a scowl creasing her brow. God _couldn't_ want a son of Anne's to be the heir instead of her, she just _knew_ it. "Maybe He didn't want that woman… the Princess Consort," she corrected herself before her mother could remind her of Anne's title yet again, "to have a son but the _Devil_ did instead and he used his powers to give her one. Everybody knows that she's a heretic and a witch so the Devil would want her baby to be King one day if he's going to grow up to be like her, instead of as a good Christian."

"I don't believe that." Katherine said firmly, troubled by the fervour in Mary's voice as she alleged that her new brother was a child sent by the Devil and accused Anne of heresy and witchcraft. While she knew that Anne had an interest in books that were considered heretical by the Church, books that had been forbidden until she managed to persuade Henry to read them, for her sake, directing his attention towards books that contained sentiments with which he was likely to be in agreement, witchcraft was another matter altogether, and a charge that she believed Anne to be guiltless of. Much as she hated to admit it, Anne's charms were natural rather than supernatural. They certainly did not need Mary to anger her father by making an allegation like that against Anne, one that he would take umbrage at and punish Mary severely for daring to suggest such a thing. "You should know that a son – any child, boy or girl – is a blessing that could only come from God. The Devil would never have the power to create something as innocent and as pure as a baby. He can only create dark, wicked things. It is his curse, and his punishment for rebelling."

Mary frowned at her mother's words, feeling impatient with her gentle resignation, even though part of her wished that she could be as good, and wondering why she could not understand that she was thinking of them and of how badly Anne was ruining things for them.

Why couldn't she see that this was not how things were supposed to be?

She could remember the day when she first set out for Ludlow Castle, with her household – and even though nobody had told her, she knew that it was because her father had given his bastard son a household of his own, which meant that he had to do the same for his legitimate daughter, for fear that if he did not, there would be grumbling that he sought to displace her with a bastard – and she remembered when Lady Salisbury brought her to her mother to say goodbye.

Before they went to her mother's apartments, Lady Salisbury rehearsed her very carefully, making her practice her curtsey many times until she could do it as gracefully as any lady of the court, so that she would be able to take her leave in a manner that befitted the Princess of Wales. The gown she would wear for her journey was one of the most cumbersome she possessed, something she had considered odd, given the long days of travel she was faced with. It was a stiff, heavy, dark miniature of a grown lady's gown, studded with jewels to show her rank as a princess.

She could remember what her mother said to her that day, when she knelt before her, her eyes filled with sadness at their impending separation, though she shed no tears, something Mary was grateful for as she was determined to be brave about what was happening and knew that if her mother wept, she would quickly follow her example. Her mother exhorted her to always remember who she was, the descendant of Isabella and Ferdinand at the only daughter of the King of England, and promising that if she was strong and true, she would be Queen one day.

Did her mother remember that promise or had she forgotten?

Katherine sighed softly, keeping her arms around Mary. She had known that her daughter would be upset but she had not expected that her reaction would be so extreme as to allege that the Devil had taken a hand in the birth of her brother, or to question God's will if He gave Anne a son. To do that was dangerously close to heresy, and it was also something that would infuriate Henry if he ever learned of it. Despite Mary's youth, there were those at court who would not be averse to stirring up trouble for her and her father was already angry enough with her over her consistent refusal to join in the prayers for a healthy prince over the past months without being given fresh cause for complaint.

Mary's resentment over the fact that her place as heir to the throne had been taken by the new arrival was natural enough but the vehemence of it was rather worrying, not only because there was nothing to be done about it and because dwelling on the issue could only cause Mary pain and serve no useful purpose, it could also make people suspect that, if Mary harboured such strong ambitions to wear the crown one day, she might be prepared to harm her new brother, or to set herself up as a pretender against him one day, neither of which could ever be allowed. It might even expose Mary to danger if she was believed to pose a serious threat to the new prince, as such a thing could never be allowed. If Henry thought that there was a serious risk that Mary might one day put herself forward as heir ahead of her brother, he would seek to eliminate that threat by deliberately marrying her to a man far below her station, a man he knew would never be accepted as King Consort, or perhaps he would even seek to place their child in a nunnery.

Katherine couldn't help but wonder whether Mary's resentment stemmed from the fact that it was Anne's son who supplanted her as heir to the throne or whether she would have been equally unhappy if she had to step aside in favour of a full brother, born from her mother's womb, instead of a half-brother born from Anne's.

"What do you think would have happened if the baby was a girl?" She asked mildly. She didn't want to ask what Mary would have envisioned happening if the child had been born dead, a loss that she herself would not have wished on either Henry or Anne, having experienced it far too often herself. She was afraid that if she asked, Mary's answer would betray that this was an outcome that would have pleased her very much, displaying a vindictiveness that she did not want to believe her sweet child was capable of.

"Father would have sent her away." The promptness of Mary's response indicated that she had thought about this before, likely more than once.

Katherine raised a surprised eyebrow. "A healthy baby in barely a year of marriage is an excellent sign, Mary, one that bodes well for the mother's fertility, whether the baby is a girl or a boy." She pointed out, thinking of her first pregnancy, which had ended in stillbirth and heartbreak. "Do you really think that your father would send the Princess Consort away, when the prospect of their next child being a son would be so promising?"

"Maybe not," Mary conceded grudgingly, inwardly acknowledging that her mother might have a point, before brightening. "But if the next one wasn't a boy, he'd see that she was no good to him and that God wouldn't let them have any boys and then he'd send her away, forever."

"And you believe that this would be a good thing?" Katherine asked, keeping her tone carefully neutral, not wanting to colour Mary's response, one way or another. She needed to know what thoughts were running through her little girl's mind, even if she was worried about what she might learn about her child.

"Yes." Mary's response was firm. "It'd be much better for us if he got rid of her."

"I think that you are mistaken in that respect." Katherine said firmly. She had not intended to speak to Mary about this, deeming it better to shield her daughter from the worry that her position was still in threat but perhaps that was a mistake on her part. Mary was twelve now, old enough to hear the truth and, by the sounds of things, sorely in need of some perspective about this issue. "If your father wishes to dissolve his marriage to the Princess Consort, then I think that it is very likely that he will choose to dissolve _both_ of his marriages at once, so that when he marries for a third time, his wife will become the Queen. It would certainly be easier for him this way. If he was able to do this, I would become the Princess Dowager of Wales," there was a slightly bitter taste in her mouth as she spoke the title that was hers for the long, lonely, miserable years of uncertainly between Arthur's death and her marriage to Henry, the title that would have been hers once more had Henry been able to secure the annulment he sought but she ignored it, pressing on. "The Princess Consort would revert to her titles as Duchess of Pembroke and Bedford and you would be declared illegitimate."

In a way, it was ironic. If Henry decided to annul his marriages, Anne would be the best off of the three of them, and certainly the only one who would have benefited most since her birth; Duchess was certainly a far cry from humble knight's daughter. The titles she was granted before her marriage ensured that she would enjoy the status of the first peer in the realm in her own right, along with a huge income from the lands she was granted when she was elevated as Duchess, both of which would pass to her daughter, if she bore one, on her death but although Katherine, as Princess Dowager of Wales, would outrank her in terms of precedence, she would not have the same income to fall back on and would be dependent on Henry's generosity to support her and her household. Mary would be the worst off of all. If she was to be declared illegitimate, then she would have no automatic right to any title and she would have no guaranteed income or dowry. Her future would have been a bleak, uncertain one.

Mary looked as though she wanted to say something, to object to the idea that Anne's downfall, which she had so hoped for, was far more likely to work against them that it was to be of benefit to them but Katherine did not give her a chance to voice her objection, continuing to speak before Mary could say a word. "Now that the Princess Consort has borne a son, your father no longer needs to worry about a lack of a male heir." It also meant that Anne was safe, as there could be no question of repudiating the mother of the Prince, and Katherine hoped that, if he was satisfied with the fact that he now had a son and heir in the nursery, Henry would not give any further thought to the idea of annulling their marriage and naming their daughter a bastard. "And that means that he is less inclined to dissolve either marriage." She said, infusing her voice with more confidence than she truly felt.

It was plain from the expression on Mary's face that she had not thought about the matter in those terms before, just as it was plain that she found the thought of being pleased that Anne had succeeded in bearing a son a galling one but Katherine could tell from the sullen pursing of her lips and her silence that the message was sinking in, however much Mary might dislike it.

Seeing that, Katherine gentled her tone, speaking more reassuringly. "I know that it is difficult for you, sweetheart – it is difficult for me too – but you must remember that there is some good to be found in this situation. You may no longer be the heir to the throne but you are still a Princess, the eldest daughter of the King of England. Even if you don't become Queen of England, your father will find a fine match for you, to a worthy prince."

If Mary's betrothal to the Duke of Orleans did not come to fruition, and Katherine rather hoped that it would not, as she had no desire to see her daughter either married into the Valois family or sent away to live in the licentious French court, there were other fine matches that could be made. The Emperor, her nephew and the man she once hoped would become her son-in-law, had a son of his own now, and the idea of a match between Mary and little Philip, heir to the throne of Spain, certainly had its appeal. There was a disparity of age, of course; Philip was still a toddler of barely two years, but that need not be an insurmountable obstacle where a royal marriage was concerned.

Mary nodded unhappily, thinking that even if she had married the Emperor, as she was once intended to and as she had hoped to, wanting the marriage because she could plainly see that her mother favoured it, even becoming the Holy Roman Empress would be a meagre consolation for the loss of the English throne.

"And this way, England is safe from civil war." It was Katherine's opinion that, if Henry died leaving Mary as his only heir, many of the English people, perhaps the vast majority, would be prepared to accept and welcome her as their Queen. The common people had loved Mary since she was a baby, and Katherine could still remember the frenzied delight with which the news of the birth of a healthy child to the King and Queen had been greeted a little over twelve years ago, delight that was only slightly dimmed by the fact that the child was a daughter instead of the hoped-for Prince of Wales, but she could not deny that there were some who doubted whether a woman would ever be able to rule effectively, perhaps enough people to undermine Mary's rule and, if that happened, there was more than one powerful noble with royal blood flowing through his veins who would be all too willing to attempt to seize the throne from Mary by force.

It was not so many years since the Duke of Buckingham plotted to assassinate Henry and seize the throne, even ahead of Mary and, at the time, Katherine was very disturbed to learn how many lords had pledged their support to the Duke's cause. Had it not been for Thomas Boleyn – of all people! – warning of Buckingham's intentions, he might have succeeded and Katherine could not keep from wondering if they would be so lucky the next time somebody saw themselves as King.

Much as she hated to admit it, Anne's baby son might be the best protection England could have from a civil war that would lead to the ruin of the country.

"Your father is going to be so happy about this baby, dearest," she told Mary, keeping her voice very gentle and stroking her daughter's long, dark hair when Mary stiffened at these words, knowing that Mary would feel jealous over the thought of her father exulting over the arrival of her half-brother. Jealousy was a wicked, sinful emotion but, in this situation, it was a very understandable one. For Mary, who had been her father's only child for so long – and, though she had had a half-brother in the Duke of Richmond for a brief time, she never saw him and his existence did not impact her life – being presented with a new sibling would have aroused envy in her even if the child was born from her mother, even if the child was a girl who would not threaten her position. Given the added complications of their present situation, it was even worse for her and Katherine could not truly blame her for her jealousy. However, she knew that Henry would expect his daughter to rejoice with him and that he would be angry if she did not. "He will want you to be happy about the baby too, and he will want you to celebrate with him and show him that you are."

"But I'm not." Mary insisted mulishly. "I _hate_ the baby!"

"Don't say that," Katherine reproved her. "How can you hate a baby you have never even met? He is your father's son and you should love him for that. I am certain that the baby will love you, if you will be his kind, loving older sister. He will look up to you, and seek to follow your example." She said, smiling slightly at the memory of her own siblings and how she, as the youngest of the family, had regarded her older sisters and brother with an almost worshipful adoration.

"He's her son, not yours."

"Yes, but he is still your brother." Katherine maintained firmly. There was a part of her that wanted to spare Mary what she knew would be the painful, embarrassing experience of having to attend the celebrations that would be staged in the new baby's honour, part of her that wanted to give out that Mary was ill and unable to attend but she knew in her heart that she could not do this. Not only would Henry be angry if his daughter refused to join in the celebrations – and he would be convinced that any claims of illness were nothing more than a convenient excuse, even if Mary was genuinely unwell – this was also the time when she had the best opportunity to guide Mary's attitude towards her new sibling, as it was forming. If she did not give herself a chance to love the baby now, if she convinced herself that she hated him, then that feeling would dominate her future relationship with her brother, warping what should be a warm, loving bond into one of jealousy and bitterness and warping Mary's nature in the process.

She could not allow that to happen, for Mary's sake more than anybody else's.

"I think that you should attend the celebrations; I am sure that there will be a feast for him soon, and that your father would be delighted if you were there when he came down, rather than him needing to send for you to attend." Mary was ready to refuse, to insist that if her father wanted her there, he would have to send somebody to carry her to the Hall by force but something in her mother's voice kept her from voicing that thought. "You are a Princess of England," Katherine reminded her, "and a Princess of England should be present when a new royal child is welcomed."

"Like Aunt Margaret?" Mary asked sceptically, knowing that the only reason that her aunt had been permitted to return to court for the birth was because her father was unwilling to allow it to be said that he was keeping his own sister, a Tudor princess by birth, away from the celebrations in her new nephew's honour. Aunt Margaret didn't like Anne any more than she did, she was just braver, brave enough to be more open about her dislike than Mary was.

"Yes," Katherine said firmly, knowing that her sister-in-law was unlikely to be pleased to be recalled to court for this purpose. "She knows what is expected of a princess and I hope that she will show that today, at the feast, and when the baby is christened. She will attend the celebrations and you should too." She cupped her daughter's chin with one hand, tilting her face gently so that Mary was looking directly at her. "You need to dress in your finest gown and you need to go down to the Hall with your head held high, like my Princess, and like Isabella of Castile's granddaughter. There will be many people coming in to see it, ordinary people, and they will be looking to see you there. You must not disappoint them. You are royal to your blood and bone, my dearest daughter, and royalty must hide their sorrows and hold their heads high when they are called upon to do so."

Mary was quiet for a minute and, when she spoke, her voice was small. "Will you be there with me, Mama?" She asked softly. If her mother was by her side, she could do it. At least Anne wouldn't be there to rub her triumph in their faces.

Katherine hesitated, unsure what she ought to say. Queens did not usually attend the celebrations in honour of the birth of the King's child but that was because the Queen was usually confined to her bed after bearing the child in question, which was not the case this time. Her presence at the ceremony had been neither commanded nor requested, likely because Henry was too busy worrying about Anne during her labour to remember his first wife, but she knew that she ought to be present, to show that the royal family was unified and that she accepted Anne's baby as a legitimate heir.

"Yes," she said at last. "We will go together."

* * *

As soon as Anne's labour began and the midwives confirmed that the child was truly on the way, that this was no false alarm, servants were dispatched to clean every inch of the Great Hall and decorate it, while the palace cooks were set to work preparing a feast in honour of the new arrival, preparing sumptuous dishes and elaborate subtleties so that the courtiers could either celebrate the birth of a prince or console themselves on the birth of a princess by feasting to their heart's content. A fireworks display was to take place as soon as the sky grew dark enough and the Master of the Revels, Master Cornish, was already planning masques in honour of the occasion, enlisting Thomas Wyatt to compose a poem in the new Prince's honour.

Although it was still morning, More noted with disapproval that more than a few of the courtiers were already looking the worse for drinking – though, mercifully, Princess Margaret was not one of them, as her husband was doing his level best to limit the amount of wine she imbibed and enjoying a measure of success– something that did not bode well for the rest of the day's festivities, which would undoubtedly become even more excessive.

It was not that he objected to the idea of a celebration; he was pleased to hear that the child was born safely and, for Henry's sake, pleased that it was a son, even if it did grieve him to think of Katherine's sorrow to learn that her beloved child was to lose her place as heir, a place she had held for so long, and he had toasted the new baby's health enthusiastically but he couldn't help but be concerned by the wildness some people were already exhibiting at the news. While he agreed that this was splendid news for England, he could not approve of such reckless excess, which was all but guaranteed to end in fighting, injury or worse, marring what should be a day of joy.

He was clad in his customary black, scorning frivolous adornment, which always set him apart as his garb was so far removed from the finery favoured by other members of the court and today, it seemed as thought everybody was clad in his or her finest garments and jewels, all determined to do honour to the new prince – or, perhaps more accurately, to be seen to do honour to the new prince, as they knew that this was something that would certainly please the baby's father.

He had already heard people speculating in whispers about the honours and titles that the King might bestow on favoured courtiers, particularly those who had supported his union with Anne. He heard bets laid on whether Thomas Boleyn, presently the Earl of Wiltshire and Ormonde, would be made a marquess or a duke as a reward for his daughter's fertility, and how long the King would wait, to make sure the child looked likely to live before he elevated his father-in-law. The Duke of Norfolk could not be elevated to a higher rank but he too was bound to expect something for this.

More was well aware of how courageous and dignified Katherine was, qualities that showed the courtiers and the common people alike that she was a Queen to her very bones, a woman born with all the attributes she would need for the role God had called her to, but even he had not expected that she would appear for the celebration, knowing that not even Henry could be cruel enough to demand that she appear to honour his new heir, and he was surprised when he saw her enter, holding Princess Mary by the hand.

He was not the only one to be surprised.

A sudden hush fell over the room, with several courtiers glancing up like children caught in some mischief, as though they were afraid that she might be angry to find them celebrating the arrival of the baby who would supplant her daughter. Only a very short time, a few heartbeats, passed between Katherine's entrance and the moment the courtiers recovered enough from their surprise to make their bows and curtsies to the Queen but the pause was not so short that it was not noticeable, and once they rose from their reverences, most people avoided her gaze, and Mary's, not wanting to meet their eyes and to be approached by them, not knowing what they would say if they came over to them, expecting conversation.

More threaded to the courtiers to reach the Queen and the Princess, bowing deeply when he came closer to them. "Your Majesty." He bowed low over the hand Katherine extended him, kissing it reverently, before making a shallower bow to Mary, smiling warmly at the young girl. "Princess Mary. I am most pleased to see you both."

"But surprised, Sir Thomas?" Katherine asked in a gently ironic tone, smiling at him to soften her remark and to show him that she neither expected nor wanted to hear his assurances that there had never been a doubt in his mind that she would be present for the revels. They both knew that this would be a lie, and there was enough dishonesty in the world without More adding to it. "Has the King come down?" She asked more quietly, looking around to see if Henry was present, trying not to be overly obvious about it, as she knew that it was likely that many of the courtiers were watching her every move, curious about her reaction to this birth and wondering what could have prompted her to come down to the Hall to be there when Anne's child's arrival was celebrated.

"No, he hasn't." Princess Margaret piped up from behind him, making a quick curtsey in Katherine's direction and kissing her sister-in-law affectionately on the cheek. Her husband hung behind her, looking rather worried, afraid that she was going to make a scene, as she had at the reception for the French ambassador. She gestured to the people around them, and to the tables that servants were setting out food on. "What a fuss." She remarked, although more mildly than they would have expected her to, given her known dislike of the mother of the baby whose arrival was being feted. She would have continued, to jeer over the fact that Anne was being so honoured when all she had done was the same thing that thousands of peasant women did every year or to point out that breeding children required no great skills, but she couldn't say something like that in front of Katherine, who would have given anything to be able to have a son.

"People are happy that there's a prince." Katherine remarked neutrally.

"The King!" The cry rose, silencing the chatter in the Hall. "Make way for His Majesty!"

They turned to look towards the door, fully expecting to see Henry arrive, likely flanked by the members of Anne's family, but not expecting him to arrive with the baby in his arms. The child was carefully wrapped in a purple velvet mantle trimmed with ermine and Henry's face glowed with love and paternal pride as he looked down at the precious bundle in his arms.

It was plain that he was surprised to see Katherine there; he hesitated for a moment by the door, as though trying to decide whether he should ignore her or whether he should approach her before making up his mind and walking towards them, although he directed his attention at Margaret first rather than Katherine, holding the baby out so that she could see him, confidently expecting to hear her admire his son, as any doting aunt would. "Sister, meet your new nephew." He introduced, smiling widely. The Duke of Norfolk and the two Boleyn men stood behind him, proud smiles on their faces as they watched, waiting for their reaction.

Margaret leaned forward to look down at the tiny face, smiling slightly as she stroked the soft, plump cheek with one finger. "A sweet child." She pronounced, although she wasn't overly interested in him. She adored her own little son but other babies had never held any great fascination for her, her niece being an exception in that regard.

Henry looked down at his daughter next, pleased to see that she was there, ready to join in the celebrations for the Prince's birth. "Hello, sweetheart," he greeted her affectionately, bending down a little so that she could see the baby. She had been obdurate before now but perhaps that was understandable. "Do you want to meet your new baby brother?"

"Of course, Papa." Although Mary's smile was forced at first, it became more genuine as she looked at the dozing baby in her father's arms, reaching out to touch his tiny hand with a gentle finger, gasping as he reflexively grasped it tightly in one chubby fist, and watching his blue eyes open to look up at her quizzically, studying the unfamiliar face.

Katherine laid her hands on her daughter's shoulders, looking down at the baby over her head, proud of Mary for being so brave about it. If her twelve year old daughter could be brave about this, so could she. "He's beautiful, Henry." She said sincerely. "Have you chosen his name?"

Henry did not respond straight away, betraying the fact that he had not settled on a final choice for a name in advance, but after a moment's pause, he responded, looking Katherine directly in the eye, his voice taking on a spiteful note as he answered. "His name is to be Arthur, in honour of my brother – your husband, madam." He added, pointedly emphasizing the word 'husband', as though he thought that Katherine might not see the point he was making with the name unless he was more explicit.

Everybody within earshot knew that he intended to make it plain that he considered Arthur to have been Katherine's only real husband, that regardless of what she or the Emperor or the pope might think, he viewed her as his brother's widow, not as his wife but if Henry had hoped that Katherine would flinch at his words, that she would betray some sign of distress over his choice of name for the new prince and the implication of his choice, he was doomed to be disappointed.

Katherine merely nodded in response, still smiling. She did not deny that Arthur had been her first husband, in name if nothing else, and she knew that the sweet, gentle young boy with whom she had lived for their short months of marriage, and who she believed she would have been able to grow to love in time had he lived, would have been pleased by the compliment, if he could know that even though he had not lived long enough to father a child of his own, his name would still live on through his baby nephew. She was not stupid and she knew that Henry hoped to distress her, especially when he made the announcement before others but if he thought that she would flinch at this, he was mistaken. She only felt pity for him, thinking it a sad thing that his resentment over the fact that he was unable to dissolve their marriage led him to use his own baby son's name to try to punish her for refusing to back out of their marriage, abdicating her rights and their daughter's for the sake of making things easy for them.

"I'm sure that Arthur would be honoured." She said. "Congratulations."

"Thank you." Henry said after a moment's pause, clearly taken aback by her reaction to the baby's name – or rather, by her lack of a reaction. For a moment, he felt ashamed of himself for choosing the baby's name to spite Katherine; he and Anne discussed the names Henry and Edward, and had not even considered Arthur but now that he had said it, he couldn't go back on what he had said, even if his choice failed to have the desired effect. Had he been in Katherine's place, knowing that somebody else had just succeeded where he had failed for all those years, he knew that he would not have been able to put in an appearance at the celebrations and that if the child was named for his late spouse, he would be embarrassed by the attention called to it and he was honest enough to admit it, at least inwardly.

But then, Katherine had always been courageous.

She had put in an appearance at the celebrations in honour of Henry Fitzroy's birth too, drinking a toast to his son's health.

He might not want her to be his wife but he could still respect her courage.

"And how is Anne?" Katherine asked.

"Fast asleep," Henry responded, a frown creasing his brow and betraying his concern for Anne. "She came through the birth very well but she's exhausted, my poor darling."

"I'm not surprised." Although it hurt to hear her husband referring to another woman by a tender endearment, Katherine didn't allow any hint of this to show on her expression and, under the circumstances, she could not entirely begrudge Anne Henry's concern. She had given birth often enough to be able to sympathize with Anne now. Any woman would be tired after bringing a new baby into the world, Anne's labour had not been short and, from what she could see of him, Arthur was not a small baby by any means. "When do you plan to have the christening?"

"Three days from now," Henry told her animatedly, eager to discuss any subject connected with his newborn son, even if Katherine was the one with whom he was speaking. "Assuming that Anne's feeling up to it, of course. We'll postpone it if she isn't well enough, and wait until she's feeling better." He added, not even noticing Katherine's slight, almost imperceptible flinch at the love and concern in his voice when he mentioned Anne, though More saw it and automatically took a half-step closer to her, providing a supportive presence, to show her that she still had friends who wanted only good to befall her. "We've asked King Francis to be his godfather, so the French ambassador will be his proxy and Anne wants her sister to be godmother..."

If Katherine was surprised or disappointed that the King of France was the one chosen to stand as godfather to England's new prince rather than her nephew, she gave no indication of it – and given that the Emperor would have prevented their marriage if it lay in his power to do so, it came as no great surprise that Henry and Anne would feel that he should be slighted while a rival king was honoured with the task. She listened with every indication of interest, keeping her arm around Mary to keep her in the family circle as Henry explained his plans for the christening and for the magnificent celebrations that would be held in honour of the baby's arrival as eagerly as he might have had she been the child's mother, slipping into a friendlier mode of conversation.

He didn't even seem to realize that he was chatting with Katherine almost as easily as he had years ago, when their marriage was a happy one, when they spoke about anything and everything and when he trusted her almost above anybody else, but others noticed.

More was pleased to see it, hoping that this was a sign that, now that he had the son he craved so badly, now that his marriage to Anne had borne fruit and he could feel more confident about England's future, Henry would be more willing to treat Katherine with the same respect and affection he once had, the respect and affection that such a good woman deserved to be shown, hoping that she would be able to be a restraining influence on him, guiding his decisions with her shrewd political instincts and, hopefully, discouraging him from following Anne's example where heretics and their writings were concerned.

Boleyn, on the other hand, was as put out by this as More was pleased.

His daughter had just borne the King a healthy, living son.

Her position was safe and he could look forward to be generously rewarded for being the father of the young woman who had given the King his sought-after heir. Anne would continue to be the favourite wife, the only one of the two women that the King was prepared to acknowledge to be his wife... but, even so, he couldn't help but be worried when he watched Henry and Katherine speaking together, in a manner that was far friendlier that he had ever hoped to see.

He didn't believe that Katherine could ever hope to drive a wedge between his daughter and the King, not when he loved Anne so much and when she had just given him his great desire. Anne was Katherine's junior by a good twenty years or more, a beautiful young woman whose husband could hardly bear to stray from her side for more than a few hours and who spent as much time with her as he possibly could. Katherine might be an attractive woman for her years but she would never be able to compete with Anne in that respect. As well as that, the birth of a son would be all the proof the King needed that he was right to think that Katherine was not his wife, and to continue to treat her as a sister-in-law rather than a spouse. He wasn't going to change his ways, not when he saw that they were working and that they gave him what he most wanted.

Katherine wasn't a threat to them but, even so, Boleyn resolved to keep a close watch on her interaction with the King over the coming days and weeks.

Just in case.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**_13th March 1530_ **

Had Thomas Boleyn been alone with his daughter, had there not been a physician, two midwives and half a dozen of Anne's ladies-in-waiting either in the room with them or within earshot, any one of whom would have told the King if he did it, he might have tried shaking Anne to wake her, or slapping her cheek smartly if that was the only way he could rouse her.

She had just given the King a living legitimate son, the heir he had craved since the day he first became King and the heir that Katherine would have given virtually anything to be able to give him and, instead of rejoicing with her husband over their baby boy's safe arrival, encouraging him to stay by her side while she hinted that it would please her greatly if he rewarded her family for this boon – and, as grandfather to the new Prince, Boleyn felt that he deserved to become a duke, or a marquess at the very least – Anne was asleep.

And because she was asleep, her husband was spending less time by her side, as he did not want to disturb her rest, which meant that he was spending more time with his eldest child and, worse still, with Katherine.

The way Katherine was behaving, anybody would have thought that she couldn't be more pleased about the birth if she had given birth to little Prince Arthur herself. Another woman would have shut herself away in her own rooms, knowing that nobody, not even the King, would ever expect her to pretend to rejoice over the birth of the child who would both supplant her daughter as heir and provide living proof that the King could not be blamed for the fact that their union had not been blessed with a healthy son. Katherine, however, attended each of the celebrations staged in honour of the Prince's arrival, toasting him with apparent good will. She had not flinched when the King announced that his new son was to be named for his brother, her true husband, and she was even offering her advice and her assistance when it came to planning the revels in the new baby's honour, making sure that she and her daughter stayed at the heart of every celebration.

Anne should have been the one the King spoke to about his plans for the christening of his heir, the one he consulted about the best time for the joust to be held and which story should be adapted for a masque – they had settled on the story of the infant Hercules strangling serpents in his cradle, to show that the new prince shared his strength and vigour – but instead, Katherine was the one he discussed his plans with, the one who made suggestions that he listened to with genuine interest, while Anne slept, oblivious to it all.

It was not that the King neglected his wife. Even Boleyn couldn't accuse him of that. Orders were given that he should be told immediately whenever Anne woke and, during her brief periods of consciousness, he would drop everything to be by her side, filling her in on any new developments as far as the celebrations in their baby's honour were concerned, thanking her over and over again for giving him his son but once Anne drifted off to sleep again, he would steal away, leaving her in the capable hands of her attendants.

Although it was originally intended that the baby would sleep in Anne's rooms at first, until she was churched, he was moved to his own nursery straight away, for fear that his crying would wake his mother if he was left with her, so the King was not stopping by Anne's apartment to see his son while she was asleep.

In fact, Boleyn thought with irritation and dismay, the King was spending more time with his first child than he was with the new arrival.

Nobody could doubt his delight in the arrival of his son, or the great pride he took in the baby Prince, but little Arthur had not yet completed his second day of life yet and, like his mother, he spent more time asleep than he did awake and there were limits to how much time even the son-starved Henry could spend watching an infant sleep. Although he had not spent much time with Princess Mary in recent months, he was seeking out his daughter's company now, listening in pride and delight as she performed on the lute and virginals for him and giving her gifts to celebrate the fact that she was now an older sister.

If Anne persisted in lying around instead of bestirring herself so that she could share in the King's delight over the birth of their son, helping to plan the festivities, as she ought to, even if she could not join in the celebrations as long as she was confined to her rooms, she was going to wake to find others laying claim to the King's attention.

It would be too cruel an irony if Anne's triumph in having borne a healthy son gave Katherine and Mary the opportunity to usurp the King's attention.

Dr Linacre was of no help to him. Boleyn had hoped that the physician would be concerned about the fact that his patient was sleeping so much, and that he might do something about it but the wretched man seemed to think that it was a good thing if Anne slept and showed no inclination to intervene.

"You must not be alarmed, my lord, it really is a blessing in many ways if Her Majesty can get all the sleep she can in the next couple of days." He explained kindly, misinterpreting Boleyn's concern and hastening to reassure him that his daughter was safe and in good hands. "Nature can sometimes be very kind and I believe that this is the case here; the Princess Consort's body will heal more quickly if she gets the rest she needs, and she will recover from childbirth all the sooner for it." He touched Anne's forehead gently, checking her for signs of fever before grasping her wrist to estimate the speed of her heartbeat, as he did on an hourly basis. "She is cool, there's no trace of fever, and her heart is beating strongly and steadily."

"Is there something you can give her?" Boleyn demanded impatiently. "Something that will rouse her?" Surely Dr Linacre, as royal physician, had a wide array of remedies at his disposal, including a stimulant of some kind, one that could force Anne back to consciousness.

"But there is no need for that, my lord!" Dr Linacre protested. "Her Majesty wakes up from time to time, and stays awake long enough for us to be able to get her to take the fluids and nourishments she requires. Other than that, she sleeps peacefully. There is no danger to her if she continues to sleep for another day or two, if that is what her body needs."

No physical danger, perhaps, but Boleyn was more concerned about Anne's position and, more importantly, his own. They had worked too hard and for too long for him to be prepared to take the risk that, while Anne was sleeping, unable to compete with her rival for the King's time and attention, Katherine would manage to worm her way back into Henry's affections, keeping his attention focused on her wretched daughter when he should be thinking only of baby Arthur, his new heir, rather than on Mary, the child who should, by all rights, have been named a bastard.

Anne needed to wake up, she needed to keep her husband by her side and she needed to take full advantage of the fact that, now that she had borne a son, she would be more his darling than she ever was before. In his delight over the birth of a prince, the King was going to be very generous when it came to dispensing favours and Anne needed to be the one guiding his hand when it came to deciding who the beneficiaries of royal bounty would be, ensuring that her family would receive their share, and more.

"You need to wake her up." He ordered the physician curtly, his sharp tone attracting the attention of a couple of Anne's attendants. "Give her something."

Had Dr Linacre been a less brave man, he might have complied. The glare Boleyn was giving him was enough to make him feel nervous around him and, had he been weaker, he felt that he would have meekly fetched the requested stimulant and dosed the Princess Consort with it, despite the fact that, in his medical opinion, it would do her no good and could even harm her but, fortunately, he was strong enough to stand firm against the command.

Anne stirred restlessly in her sleep, as though she could sense the quarrel brewing over her, but she did not awaken, to Boleyn's disappointment and Dr Linacre's relief.

"I apologize if I offend you, my lord, but I cannot do that." He said firmly, keeping his voice low and stepping a few paces away from the bed so that his patient would not be disturbed. "It is my opinion, as physician, that it would not be in Her Majesty's best interests if I attempted to wake her before she is ready." Seeing that Boleyn was ready to argue with him, to command him to obey, he continued, injecting a note of iron in his voice. "His Majesty the King placed the Princess Consort in my charge while she recovers from childbirth and commanded that I should ensure that she was well cared for. I should be failing in my duty if I forced her to awaken before she was ready to do so. I have a responsibility to act as I think right, and to safeguard Her Majesty's health to the best of my ability."

Even Boleyn couldn't argue against the King's express commands, much as he might like to in this case. If the King had placed Dr Linacre in charge of overseeing Anne's care, then the man had the authority to refuse to obey him, despite the fact that he was not only an earl twice over but the father of the young woman whose care they were disputing, not to mention the grandfather of England's future King.

As well as that, he couldn't help but notice that his quarrel with the physician was attracting unwelcome attention from the midwives and from Anne's ladies. The last thing he wanted was for one of them to report that he was trying to bully Dr Linacre into waking Anne when it was the physician's medical opinion that she should be allowed to remain asleep. If the King learned of it, he would be angry and, while he might allow him to go unpunished, rather than upset Anne by quarrelling with a member of her family, Boleyn knew that he would go unrewarded too, receiving neither title nor honour nor acre of land in honour of the Prince's arrival.

It was with great reluctance that he subsided but he was wise enough to know that he would be better off holding his peace, at least for the moment.

He forced himself to smile, as though he didn't object in the least to Dr Linacre daring to argue with him. "You are to be commended for your diligence, Doctor, and for your care of your patient." He complimented him, the words tasting sour. "When Her Majesty awakens next, please send a messenger to me to let me know; I should like the opportunity to speak with my daughter." Once he had the chance to talk to Anne, he could stress the importance of staying awake and the dangers if she failed to do so, admonishing her to make the effort to resist the desire to sleep.

"Of course, my lord." Dr Linacre bowed acknowledgement of the command but he knew better than to think that the other man meant a word of the compliment he gave him and he was very relieved when Boleyn departed.

When Anne awoke a few minutes later, blinking sleepily, Dr Linacre didn't even consider sending somebody to catch up to her father, not wanting the man to be around his daughter when she was in a fragile condition and he was clearly in such an unpleasant mood, and when she drowsed off after another few minutes, he didn't try to stop her.

* * *

When Lady Salisbury first suggested that she should sew a garment for the baby's layette a few months ago, pointing out that it would give her the opportunity to show her parents how her needlework had improved and that it would be a pleasant gift for her to be able to give her new sibling, Mary had refused, in no uncertain terms, having no intention of sitting around for hours on end, sewing for Anne's child. Her governess persisted, however, and she had eventually yielded, albeit with bad grace, agreeing to make a gown and cap for the coming child and to embroider them in order to pacify the woman, not wanting Lady Salisbury to say something to her mother, who was certain to agree that she should do it.

When she made them, she resented every stitch that went into the tiny garments. She might have deliberately done a clumsy job of sewing them, producing something so poor that it would never be worn by any child born into a family of means, least of all by the King's child, but her pride kept her from doing that. As tempting as the idea of handing Anne a poorly sewn gown, of letting her know exactly where she and the new baby stood in Mary's esteem was, she had no intention of allowing Anne to remark on her poor efforts, either to condemn her for being spiteful or, worse still, to pretend to pity her for the fact that she was incapable of producing anything better. She wouldn't let that woman and her ladies turn her into an object of ridicule.

The gown and cap were sewn of the finest white linen and, with her governess' help, Mary trimmed the cap with lace and embroidered the bodice of the tiny gown. As resentful as she was over her task, she had to admit that when she was finished, she was proud to see that the result was equal to anything her mother's ladies could have produced, even though they were so much older than she was.

However, after the baby was born, she was very glad that she had made them, not because she wanted to give Arthur a special gift – although she had to admit that he was a sweet baby, sweeter than she would have thought any baby of Anne's could ever be – but because of the genuine pleasure and admiration in her father's eyes when she shyly presented him with the wrapped bundle containing the tiny garments.

"They're wonderful, sweetheart." Henry praised his daughter, kissing her cheek in thanks before he began to examine the gown and cap more closely. Obviously, Anne and her ladies had already made an elaborate layette for Arthur, producing more tiny garments than he would be able to wear before he outgrew them and he did not actually stand in need of another outfit, but that wasn't what mattered to him and he was sure that Anne would feel the same way when he showed them to her. He would have been lying if he said that he had never been troubled by the way that Mary had reacted to the fact that Anne was to give her a baby brother and he was relieved to see that, now that Arthur was here, his half-sister seemed to be reconciled to his arrival, even though it would undoubtedly be disappointing for her to know that baby Arthur took precedence over her.

He was proud of Mary for that and, glancing up at Katherine, he could see that the same was true of her.

"You have done very well with them, sweetheart." Katherine agreed, stroking Mary's dark hair and wistfully thinking that it had been far too long since she and Henry had sat together with their beloved daughter, sharing their pride in her accomplishments. Henry was usually so absorbed in Anne, to the exclusion of all others, that he had little time for Mary and even less time for Katherine but perhaps that might change. Even if he could no longer bring himself to treat her as his wife, even if he had managed to convince himself that it would be sinful for him to do so, she was still the mother of his child and they should be on friendly terms, at the very least.

Henry had the heir he wanted and his joy over that was plain but perhaps, with baby Arthur in the royal nursery, he would begin to pay more attention to Mary, who deeply resented the fact that Anne was so often the focus of her father's attention instead of herself and feared that the advent of Anne's child would cost her even more of her father's time. Even if Henry loved Anne and his child by her, Katherine prayed that he had come to realize that this did not mean that he needed to neglect Mary.

Their daughter would certainly be happier if she could feel like she was still cherished by her father.

While Anne was recovering from childbirth, Henry had more time on his hands and Katherine was glad of the opportunity to be able to direct his attention to Mary, to show him that, as proud as he was of his new son, he should be equally proud of Mary and just loving towards her as he was to her new baby brother. She was so like him in many ways, witty and strong-willed, with Henry's love for finery and display. The more time Henry spent with Mary, the more he would realize this, the more he would enjoy their time together and, Katherine prayed, the less likely he would be to want to convince himself that their darling child was illegitimate.

She couldn't forget the look in Henry's eyes when he declared that their sweet Mary was a bastard in all but name, or discount the possibility that he might one day seek to downgrade their child in favour of any daughters Anne might bear in the future. It was important for her to encourage Henry's love for Mary as much as possible, not only to ensure her child's present happiness but also to ensure that her father wouldn't contemplate the idea of diminishing her status in the future. Mary might not be Henry's heir any longer but she was still a Princess of England, the firstborn daughter of the King, and Katherine had no intention of allowing her to lose any more than she had already.

When Mary brightly offered to play the new piece she had learned from her music master, Henry needed little encouragement to stay and listen to their child perform on the virginals and, as always, it was plain that he was impressed by the skill with which she played them. Mary's playing would not have shamed a professional musician, despite the fact that she was barely twelve. Katherine was not especially talented in that respect herself but she enjoyed listening to Mary play for her, especially when she and Henry played a duet.

Keeping her voice low so as not to drown out Mary's playing, Katherine spoke to Henry. "How are the arrangements for the christening coming along?" She asked softly, wondering if Anne was well enough yet for the ceremony to take place; she could not attend it, of course, as she had not yet been churched but it would still be expected that she would receive well-wishers when the baby was brought back to her apartment and restored to her arms. Naturally, nobody thought to keep her updated on Anne's condition, not knowing whether she would welcome it if they kept her informed or whether Anne was the last person in the world that she wanted to hear about, but she had heard enough to know that Anne was still spending a great deal of time asleep, while her body recovered from the strain of pregnancy and childbirth.

Margaret, who sometimes seemed as though she would rather cut out her own tongue than compliment Anne in any way, had remarked that Anne was probably being the most sensible of them all at the moment, sleeping through the fuss being staged in honour of the birth and sparing herself the discomfort of having to receive a horde of well-wishers just after giving birth. She opined that all new royal mothers should consider doing the same.

"They're going well; we should have it day after tomorrow, hopefully," Henry responded, following her example and keeping his voice low, still listening with half an ear to Mary's playing and turned more towards their child than to her. "But if we have to, we can postpone it if Anne needs more time. There are still some details that she and I need to discuss, in any case."

Katherine nodded, hiding any trace of pain she might have felt at the mention of the other woman's name. She could scarcely begrudge Anne the joy of being present for the christening of her child and it was certainly not something that should proceed without her. Had they tried to exclude her from Mary's christening, she would have been furious.

She had not yet decided whether or not she would attend. Henry had not indicated his wishes, one way or another, but she knew that she was unlikely to be commanded to attend, just as she knew that if she chose to attend, nobody would even consider barring the Queen of England from the ceremony, no matter how unusual the circumstances were. She had attended other celebrations in Arthur's honour but this one would be different. Attending the christening and joining in the procession afterwards would mean coming face to face with Anne, seeing the other woman's triumph after the birth of a prince, and she wasn't sure if that was something she could do.

Henry didn't say anything else, listening in silence while Mary played and, when the young girl was finished with her piece, he applauded her warmly. "That was wonderful, sweetheart." He said, rising to kiss her on the top of the head. "When Arthur is a little older, you'll have to teach him to play as well as you do." He suggested, patting Mary's shoulder once more.

Mary stiffened slightly at the reference to Arthur but she hid her feelings well, smiling up at her father and nodding. By the time Arthur was old enough to learn to play the virginals or any other instrument, she would probably be married, so she wouldn't need to worry about teaching him anything. However, if it pleased her father to think that she would be willing to teach him and to think that she didn't mind that she had a younger brother now – one who was also the son of Anne Boleyn, to make matters worse – she would allow him to believe it.

She kept the smile on her face until her father left the room, probably to visit either Anne or her son, and then she finally allowed it to fade, leaving a frown behind.

* * *

**_14th March 1530_ **

"Good morning, my sleepyhead." Henry greeted Anne cheerfully as he sat down on the edge of the bed, gesturing to her breakfast tray, pleased to see that she had made a good meal this morning. "Are you finished with that?" She nodded and he lifted the tray from her knees, passing it to Madge Shelton so that she could carry it away. He took Anne's hand in his, kissing it, relieved to see that she was much more alert than she had been when she was last awake yesterday. Dr Linacre assured him that there was no harm to Anne sleeping so much, that it might even be beneficial for her to get all the rest she could, but it was still disconcerting for him to see her lying so still, almost entirely unaware of what happened around her. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" He asked tenderly.

"Better." She responded honestly. She was still stiff but the medicine Dr Linacre gave her ensured that her discomfort was minimized as much as possible. She could sit up in bed, propped with pillows and she was already beginning to feel restless, even though she knew that it would be quite some time before she was allowed to get out of bed, even to make the short journey into the outer chamber to lie on a couch instead. They would play it safe rather than take the chance that by allowing her to do too much, too quickly, they might risk a setback in her recovery. "Where's Arthur?" She was surprised when Henry told her that he had already chosen their son's name, especially since the name he selected was not one of the two they had discussed before the birth but she hadn't asked about the reasons for his choice, assuming that he wished to honour his late brother.

In any case, she quite liked the idea of being the mother of a King Arthur.

"He's in his nursery, sweetheart; when you were so tired, we thought that it would be best if he slept in his own apartments so that he didn't keep you awake." Henry explained. "Did you want to see him?"

"Yes." It felt as though she hadn't been allowed to catch more than the quickest glimpse of her son since the moment of his birth. Even when she was awake, they seemed very reluctant to bring the baby in to see her, and when they did, they did not want her to hold him. They always made excuses about how it would tax her strength too much if she tried to hold him, advising against it in outwardly deferential tones, their posture making it clear that the last thing they wanted was for her to dispute their advice. If she had had the energy, she would have argued with them, demanded that they bring her son to her without any further delays or excuses but she tended to lose her battle against sleep too quickly to allow that.

"Alright." Henry released her hand, rising and moving through to the outer chamber, instructing one of Anne's ladies to go straight to the nursery to tell the Prince's nurse to bring him at once. He returned to Anne's side as soon as he gave the order, taking her hand in his again. "They'll have him here in a few minutes, my darling," he told her. "Wait until you see him! The midwives and the nurses all agree that he's a big baby for an infant two days old, and he is very strong and very alert. If we wait much longer for the christening, he may not fit into the gown you made him!" He teased.

Anne smiled at that. Even if Arthur was too big to fit into the gown she made him, panels could be added in a couple of hours at most to ensure that it would not be too tight for him. She was relieved to know that her son was strong and healthy. Nobody liked to talk about it around her – and she was sure that Henry would be furious if anybody dared to suggest the possibility in her presence or his – but the lives of infants could be so fragile, with too many not surviving their births by more than a matter of days. Fortunately, Dr Linacre, the midwives and the baby's nurses were all in agreement over the fact that little Arthur was a strong child, one who looked likely to grow to be a fine man one day.

Within a matter of minutes, a small procession arrived at Anne's apartments, led by a tall, plump woman in a plain black dress, with a snow-white apron and cap. Arthur was in her arms, dressed in one of the tiny white gowns that made up his layette and wrapped in a mantle of purple velvet and ermine, as befitted a Prince of England and the heir apparent to the throne.

"Your Majesties." Expertly balancing the baby in her arms, the nurse curtsied deeply before relinquishing the baby into Henry's arms – and not without some reluctance, Anne thought. She didn't leave the room afterwards. She remained hovering, watching them with keen eyes, eager to see to it that the visit went well.

Henry crooned to the baby for a moment before bending down to gently place him in Anne's arms, making sure that her hold on him was secure before he moved back a couple of feet, stroking the baby's downy head. "Our son, sweetheart." He introduced, beaming to see his wife's genuine pleasure when their child was placed in her arms.

"He's beautiful!" Anne enthused, marvelling at the perfection of his tiny hands and feet and stroking his plump cheeks with a gentle finger. He caught one of her fingers in one of his chubby hands, squeezing tightly and guiding it towards his mouth. "And strong." She added, feeling the strength of his grip.

"His Highness the Prince is a fine child, Your Majesties." The nurse said with another curtsey, plainly anxious to ensure that neither of the baby's parents could have any cause for complaint over their child or over the level of care lavished on him. "And so bright and alert already!"

Henry nodded, seeming to understand the woman's need for assurance that they were satisfied. Tending to the royal children was a great honour but it was also a huge responsibility, as any neglect of the princes or princesses would be severely punished. He could remember from Mary's infancy, and that of his short-lived son by Katherine, how eager the attendants in the royal nursery always were to ensure that their service was considered satisfactory. "He is indeed, Mistress," he agreed. "And we thank you for your care of our beloved Prince."

The nurse curtsied again, a smile creasing her face. "It is my very great honour to tend His Highness, Your Majesty." She assured him solemnly.

Henry acknowledged her words with a nod. Naturally, the nurse would not continue to wield so much authority within the nursery, regardless of how good a job she was doing of caring for Arthur and supervising the work of his other attendants. As Prince, Arthur would need to be provided with a suitable household, befitting his status as heir to the throne, and his household would have to be headed by a Lady Governess, a woman of suitable rank who would rule over the nursery and be responsible for the care and education of the Prince until he turned six, and was old enough to be given into the care of his tutors.

Once Anne was feeling stronger, they would go through the list of candidates together, selecting the lady who would be entrusted with caring for their son. At one point, he considered transferring Lady Salisbury, who had served so well and so diligently as Mary's governess, to Arthur's household but he decided against it. Although she was an intelligent, well-educated woman, one with royal blood in her veins, she was loyal to Katherine and to Mary, perhaps too loyal for him to wish to see his son by Anne in her hands – not that he suspected that Lady Salisbury would ever attempt to harm a child given into her charge, but she was unlikely to be as devoted to Arthur as she was to Mary. In any case, Anne was certainly likely to be more comfortable if somebody she knew and trusted, perhaps one of her kinswomen, could be entrusted with the task.

Anne cradled her son in her arms, frowning slightly when he began to grumble in discontent, squirming energetically.

"He is hungry, Your Majesty." The nurse explained, able to recognize the characteristic cry. She reached out to take the baby from Anne, ready to bring him back to the nursery and to his wetnurse, but Anne didn't allow him to be taken from her.

Feeling the milk begin to flow in her breasts in response to the cry, she began to unlace the front of her nightgown, shifting her son into a more comfortable position in her arms.

"What are you doing?" Henry's tone was not sharp but there was a disapproving edge to it that Anne could not fail to notice.

"May I not feed him from my own breast?" She asked, puzzled by his reaction.

It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that Queens did not feed their children themselves, leaving that task to another woman instead, but Henry knew Anne well enough to know that if he tried to use that argument, she would point out that, technically, she was not Queen yet and there were no set rules about what a Princess Consort might and might not do when it came to her child, not yet. Instead, he bent down to gently pluck Arthur from Anne's arms, rocking him a little to soothe his grumbling before passing him to his nurse, instructing the woman to bring him to the nursery and his wetnurse. Seeing the dismay on Anne's face, he sat down on the bed next to her, stroking her hair. "He's already feeding well from his wetnurse, my darling," he explained gently. "You don't want to confuse him or to upset his digestion, do you?"

"No," Anne responded quietly. She wanted to ask about whether, now that she was awake, Arthur's cradle could be moved back into her apartment so that she might have him close to her as originally intended, at least for the next few weeks, but she knew that there was no point in asking. If his nursery had already been set up, they were unlikely to want to move him in with her again, only to have to move him back within a matter of weeks.

Henry kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry, sweetheart. They'll bring him straight back. And whenever you want to see him, any time during the day, just send a message to the nursery. They'll bring Arthur here at once, alright?" Anne nodded and he hugged her gently. "Do you think you feel strong enough for us to have the christening tomorrow?" He asked. "If not, we can wait..."

"I'll be fine." Anne promised.

"Good." Henry smiled at her. Had she needed more time, he would not have begrudged her the delay but he was pleased that they would not have to wait. He was looking forward to it; although he would not attend the christening ceremony itself, the idea of seeing the court paying honour to their future King appealed to him greatly. "King Francis has sent over a great gold font to be used for the christening of his godson and Cardinal Wolsey is delighted to be able to christen the Prince. The French ambassador will hold Arthur over the font, as Francis' proxy."

"And my sister as godmother?" Anne prompted. Under other circumstances, perhaps it would be considered more fitting for Princess Margaret to be the one honoured with the task, or perhaps even young Princess Mary but Henry had promised that she could select the godmother for their son and she wanted her sister, knowing that Mary would adore her new nephew. She was under no illusions about the fact that her baby's other aunt was likely to be far less delighted about his arrival, and Arthur's half-sister might feel as though she was being mocked if she was asked to stand godmother to the infant who had displaced her as heir.

Anne certainly did not want to give Princess Mary fresh cause to feel resentful towards her or towards Arthur.

"If that's what you want, sweetheart." Henry agreed easily, giving her another quick kiss and chuckling softly. "I think that I'm going to find it harder than ever to say 'no' to you now." He remarked wryly. Not only was Anne his adored wife, she was now the mother of his wonderful little son and there was nothing he could give her that would be too much now, nothing she could ask that he would shrink from giving her. He would have to put the royal goldsmiths to work, he told himself, charging them with the task of creating some truly spectacular jewels that he could give to Anne as a memento of their son's arrival, to thank her for having brought so much happiness into his life, and in such a short time.

It might be Anne's motto, not his, but at this moment, Henry felt as though he was the Most Happy.

* * *

**_15th March 1530_ **

Under other circumstances, Wolsey might have felt put out that he had not been asked to stand as godfather to the newborn prince, as he was to Princess Mary, but, as the situation stood, he rejoiced to see the French ambassador cradling the infant, promising, on behalf of his royal master, to renounce Satan and to help to bring the Prince to God.

He was always eager to work in favour of an Anglo-French alliance, and he received a handsome pension from the King of France for doing so, which meant that any sign that Henry was warmly disposed towards the King of France was welcome, even if the good will might be temporary. Just as royal betrothals could be made and broken depending on the relations between the countries in question, one monarch acting as godparent or namesake to the child of another was no guarantee that the two countries would not find themselves in conflict before the royal infant had begun to cut his teeth but, for the moment, Wolsey was pleased to see the show of friendship between the two countries and, more importantly, to see that the Emperor was being slighted in favour of the King of France.

Protocol would not allow Ambassador Mendoza to be barred from the ceremony but Wolsey had made sure that his would not be an honoured place, at the ceremony or during the procession back to the Princess Consort's apartments so that the newly baptised child might be presented to his mother, a deliberate insult that neither Mendoza nor Queen Katherine could mistake.

Before the birth, Wolsey had taken the precaution of purchasing suitable gifts that might be presented to the new mother once the child was born, even taking particular care to ensure that he had two sets of gifts prepared; one especially lavish array of jewels, plate and tapestries should Anne succeed in producing a healthy son, with a second, less grand set of gifts readied in case she only managed to bear a daughter.

He was not such a fool as to think that a few gifts would be enough to persuade the young woman that he was her friend, especially when her father and uncle were still his sworn enemies, both of them eager to see him fall so that they might reap the benefits of his disgrace, materially and in terms of their position at court but perhaps it would soften her feelings towards him enough to make sure that she did not take advantage of the King's delight over the birth of their child and use Henry's love for her to urge him to dismiss him, giving his office as Lord Chancellor to somebody else and sending him away to one of his distant bishoprics like a cow put out to pasture.

Despite his earnest efforts to make himself indispensable to Henry and pleasant to Anne, he could not entirely shake the fear that he could not call his position at court or in the King's affections secure, even after his long years of diligent service.

He knew Henry well enough to know that he was likely to have a short memory for past good service, just as he had a long memory for past insults and failures. Wolsey was fortunate to have survived his failure to secure an annulment as unscathed as he did, just as he was fortunate that Henry had grudgingly reconciled himself to the idea of having Anne as Princess Consort rather than Queen. He had many reasons to rejoice over the birth of a healthy prince but the chief reason for his joy was that Prince Arthur's safe arrival would provide Henry with the heir he sought and, hopefully, help to convince him that he had done the right thing when he agreed to the Pope's compromise.

Should Henry ever come to feel that he no longer wished to continue with his present marital situation, should he demand that the issue of the validity of his marriage to Katherine be investigated again, so that he could annul their union and ensure that the Queen's crown would be free for Anne, then he would expect Wolsey to be able to deliver what he wanted. When he failed to do so – and Wolsey was under no illusions that Pope Clement would never be prepared to annul the marriage now, between the way he was still in the Emperor's power and the compromise that he had already agreed to – then it would be as if his long years of diligent service, years during which he had enjoyed considerable success and served Henry better than any other man could ever hope to, had never happened.

Henry would forget about his past good service and he would feel anger over his failure, punishing him for it as if he had deliberately sought to fail.

And Wiltshire and Norfolk would be the first to urge him to do so.

Prince Arthur wriggled in the arms of the French ambassador as he was held over the font and Wolsey smiled slightly when the infant turned to look at him with quizzical blue eyes – he predicted that the baby would have his mother's eyes – staring up at his face, seemingly entranced by the red silk of his robes. A strong child, thank God, a child who would grow to manhood and sit on his father's throne as the third King of the Tudor dynasty.

Would he also be a man who would recognize the abilities of men like Wolsey or would he be a man who was taught by his mother, encouraged to depend on his Boleyn and Howard kin above all others?

In some ways, Wolsey was glad that he was unlikely to live to see it.

With great care, the French ambassador passed the baby to Wolsey so that he could immerse him in the font, with the water carefully warmed so that they did not risk the child taking a chill. As he carefully held the baby, ensuring that Arthur could not slip from his grasp and under the water, Wolsey scooped up a handful of water to sprinkle on the baby's forehead, speaking the Latin words that would welcome the little Prince as a baptised Christian. Once that part of the ceremony was over, he lifted the child out, drying him quickly before allowing Lady Mary Carey to take her nephew and godson, dressing him in his dainty christening robe and wrapping him in a mantle.

Baby Arthur seemed to have inherited his parents' love for pageantry and display.

Another child might have wailed throughout the ceremony, squirming in an attempt to escape the hands of the tormentors who insisted on dousing him with water but Arthur behaved as well as any infant could possibly be expected to, making a minimum of fuss and looking around him at the sea of faces, as though he was pleased to see that so many people had come to honour him.

As befitted a sister of the King, Princess Margaret stood near the front of the crowd gathered to witness the baptism, with her husband by her side. She had behaved herself tolerably well over the past couple of weeks, since her arrival at court and had thankfully refrained from openly insulting her sister-in-law, something Wolsey was sure her husband was duly thankful for.

The real surprise, however, was that Katherine was also in attendance, richly attired in one of her finest gowns, proudly wearing some of the official jewels of the Queens of England – perhaps to remind everybody present that, although Anne might be the mother of England's new Prince, she was still the Queen of England and would remain that until the day she died? – and holding her young daughter by the hand. Like her mother, Princess Mary was attempting to put on a brave face and to feign pleasure at the fact that there was a new prince in the royal nursery but, at twelve, she could not hope to mask her feelings as well as Katherine could.

Wolsey expected that, once the baptism itself was over, Henry's first wife and his daughter would quietly slip away, but Katherine surprised him by remaining, taking her place near the head of the procession, just after the herald leading the way, and Lady Mary Carey, who carried her nephew. Princess Margaret and her husband were next and Wolsey followed immediately behind them, quickening his step to ensure that the Duke of Norfolk did not attempt to push ahead and take precedence over him in the procession.

Virtually every courtier was present at the baptism and part of the procession but, even so, the herald called out loudly as he led the procession, admonishing anybody who might stand in their path to make way. "God, in His almighty and infinite grace, grant good life and long to the right high, the right excellent and noble Prince Arthur, Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Chester, most dear and entirely beloved son of our dread and gracious lord, Henry the Eighth!"

The King intended to invest his infant son with the title of Prince of Wales within a couple of months at the very most, tentatively planning for the ceremony to take place shortly after Anne was churched and able to attend the ceremony. Until then, the titles of Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Chester were his by right, as the eldest son of the King.

Anne was sitting up in bed when the procession reached her apartments, dressed in a robe of pale purple silk, trimmed with ermine. Henry stood next to her, proudly awaiting the arrival of their son.

As required by custom, Lady Mary Carey placed her nephew in her sister's arms, and Anne cuddled him close, kissing his downy head and rocking him gently in her arms, her face lighting up in a smile when Arthur looked up at her with his wide, blue eyes, a quizzical expression on his tiny face as he studied her before deciding that his mother's embrace was as good a place as any for him to doze off, snuggling in close.

Anne glanced up then, smiling in acknowledgement as the courtiers in front of her bowed before her, Henry and their son. She didn't notice Katherine at first but, once everybody else was bowing and curtseying, showing a degree of deference that was not expected from Katherine by virtue of her status as Queen, the other woman was the only one standing bolt upright while others paid homage to the infant prince.

Since the wedding, the two of them had lived separate lives, at least as much as possible.

Their respective apartments were set far apart, the ladies of their households rarely, if ever, mingled and, apart from Mass on Sundays and the occasional official banquet, they were never in the same room together. Anne was usually with Henry, or with her ladies while Henry was occupied with state affairs, and Katherine spent her days with her household and with her daughter. They might not have had any kind of spoken agreement to stay out of one another's way but things had certainly worked out that way, something Anne was relieved about and she suspected that Katherine felt the same way as she did.

Now Katherine was standing here, in Anne's bedchamber of all places, and on today of all days!

It was ridiculous for her to be nervous around the other woman.

Anne was Henry's wife, just as much as Katherine was – more so; regardless of Katherine's protests, Henry did not consider her to be his wife and, if he had his way, she would no longer be allowed to lay claim to that title. Anne might not be the Queen but nobody could dispute that she was the King's legal wife, something Katherine was only allowed to call herself because of papal cowardice and Imperial aggression. A woman with less powerful family connections would have been set aside by now, with her marriage dissolved and her daughter declared illegitimate.

So why couldn't she keep herself from feeling uncomfortable around her?

Katherine's expression was serene. Somebody she knew well would have found it virtually impossible to read her expression and Anne, who scarcely knew her at all, couldn't even hazard a guess.

How did she feel, coming here to visit the woman who had succeeded where she had failed for all those years? Everybody knew that Katherine had prayed to bear Henry a son since the day they were married, prayers that were never answered, except with stillbirths, a short-lived baby boy and one living daughter. How did she feel to know that England's prince had been born to another woman? How did she feel about the fact that, by virtue of his sex, Anne's Arthur automatically took precedence over her Mary, both in terms of position and with regard to the succession?

Had their positions been reversed, Anne thought that she would be furious and devastated to know that another woman had given her husband the son he sought, especially if she also had a daughter whose position was weakened by the birth of the other woman's son, but if Katherine felt resentful about Arthur's birth, she hid it well. Certainly better than Anne thought she would have been able to in her shoes.

According to her father, Katherine was taking part in the celebrations in Arthur's honour along with everybody else, toasting the baby without any sign of ill-will. Had she not had good cause to know that God had not seen fit to endow her father with much by way of a sense of humour, Anne would have been certain that he was joking but now she knew that he was not.

Was it that, despite everything that had happened, Katherine still loved Henry enough to be pleased for him that he had the son he wanted at last, even if Arthur was not her son too? Or had she simply resigned herself to the idea that, if Anne was able to bear a son, there was nothing she could do about it except accept that this was God's will?

Anne honestly did not know.

Katherine met her eyes then, holding her gaze for a moment before she inclined her head in a slight nod, giving her the faintest of smiles.

Then the courtiers rose from their obeisance, obscuring Katherine from view, with Wolsey and the French ambassador hastening forward to offer Anne their congratulations on Arthur's birth and on his clearly excellent health.

By the time Anne was finished speaking to the two men, and had a chance to look back at the place where Katherine was standing, the other woman had gone.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**_19th March 1530_ **

"Your Majesty," Madge Shelton's eyes were wide as she made her curtsey to her cousin, her apprehension over having to deliver a message she knew would be unwelcome plain to all who saw her. "The Prince's nurse said that he is sleeping now, and that she thinks that it would be best if he was not disturbed. She begs Your Majesty's forgiveness and asked me to tell you that she will try to bring the Prince to visit you later, when he wakes up."

Anne slumped back against her pillows, indicating with a wave of her hand that Madge could leave.

She couldn't claim that she was surprised.

Although Henry had promised that she would be able to see Arthur whenever she wanted to, it seemed that every time she sent a message down to the nursery letting his nurse know that she wished to see her son, a message was sent back to let her know that Arthur was sleeping, or that it was not long until he was due to be fed or that he was fussy and that it would be better if he was not overexcited by a visit to her rooms or that, for some reason or another, his nurse deemed it better if he stayed in his nursery instead of being brought down to visit her. She predicted that, should she send a message in an hour or so, when her son was likely to have woken from his nap, Arthur's attendants would have a fresh excuse for why he could not be brought down to see her, one reasonable enough to ensure that she could not dispute it.

If they did run out of excuses and they were obliged to honour her wishes and to bring him down to see her, she knew that the nurse who carried her son to her apartment would be poised to snatch him up and carry him back to the nursery at the first possible opportunity, making some outwardly plausible excuse for why Anne's baby could not be left in her arms a few minutes longer and whisking him away, determined not to bring him back again until she was obliged to.

It was as though the little household responsible for tending to her son's needs viewed her as an intruder into their world, not as Arthur's mother, as though they deemed Arthur to be their baby rather than hers, as though they did not realize that he was her flesh and blood, her precious son, while they were merely the women paid to tend to his needs.

They were simply going to have to get used to her visits.

At the moment, she was stuck in bed but Dr Linacre had promised that, within a few days, she would be able to leave her bed and move to a couch in the outer chamber of her suite. In five weeks time, she would be churched and then she would be able to go down to the nursery whenever she wanted to, whether Arthur's attendants wanted her there or not, and she would spend as much time as she possibly could with her son, knowing that they would never dare to evict the Princess Consort from her own child's nursery, or even to hint that she ought to leave... but five weeks was a long time to wait when she wanted to see him now.

Had Arthur been left to sleep in her apartment until she was churched, they would have had those six weeks together, closeted with her ladies and with his nurses, with frequent visits from Henry and only occasional visits from others. She would have had her baby to herself, without having to feel as though Arthur was England's baby too. Had she been breast-feeding Arthur, nobody would have had any choice but to bring her to him regularly for his meals. Instead, because her son was given into the care of a wetnurse for his feedings and because had been given his own suite of rooms as soon as he was born, she had to depend on his nurses to bring him for visits whenever she wanted to see him and they seemed very reluctant to encourage those visits.

"Your Majesty!" Madge entered the room again, curtseying quickly. "The King is here."

Anne sat up straighter, smiling in welcome as Henry entered the room, one hand behind his back and a mischievous expression on his face.

"Close your eyes, sweetheart." He instructed, waiting until she had shut her eyes before he sat down on the bed next to her, setting a jewel case down on the table by the bed. He opened the box, taking out a necklace of diamonds and rubies, waiting until he had fastened it around her neck before speaking again. "Now open them."

Anne looked down at the magnificent necklace, touching it with awed fingers. Since the wedding, and even before, Henry had showered her with jewels fit for a Queen, but since Arthur's birth, he had been presenting her with some of the most beautiful pieces she had ever seen on a daily basis, lavishly declaring that they were poor repayment for the gift that she had given him. She kissed his cheek in thanks. "Thank you. It's beautiful."

"You're beautiful, my love, and so is our son." Henry kissed her neck, before putting his arm around her shoulder, hugging her close and reclining next to her on the bed. He felt as though he couldn't wait for the day when Anne could be churched, allowing her to leave the confinement of her apartment, able to rejoin the court and to share a bed with her husband once more. He missed her badly and was longing to be able to have her to himself once more. "Where is Arthur?" He asked, a quick glance around the apartment confirming that their son wasn't there. "I thought that you'd want him here with you."

"His nurse said that he's sleeping." Anne reported, her discontent evident.

"Did she? Well, I'm sure that he won't mind coming down for a visit. He'll want to see his Mama – and a prince must learn never to disappoint a lady." Henry beckoned to Madge, who hastened towards him. "Please tell the Prince's nurse that I wish for my son to be brought here at once." He instructed, waiting for Madge to curtsey and leave the room, bound for the nursery once more, before returning his attention to Anne, smiling at the contrast between the necklace he had fastened around her neck and the nightgown she was wearing. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel fine." She assured him, suppressing the irritation she felt over the fact that, while Arthur's nurses had no qualms about fobbing her off with excuses, they were unlikely to dare to do the same with Henry. If he wanted Arthur brought to see him, Arthur would be brought to see him, no matter what. "I'm ready to get out of bed."

"Be careful, sweetheart, we don't want you rushing too fast and tiring yourself out, do we?" Henry reminded her. "Take whatever time you need. You're going to need to build up your strength after all, because as soon as you're up and about again, I have every intention of bringing you back to that bed and..." His voice dropped to a whisper and he leaned close to her ear as he finished his sentence, provoking a peal of giggles from Anne. "Ssh!" He hushed her quickly, seeing a couple of Anne's ladies glancing in at him, wondering what had prompted her laughter.

Anne bit her lower lip to quench the giggles, feeling considerably more cheerful now that she had Henry by her side again.

Her father made sure to report back to her whenever Henry was spending time with Katherine or with Princess Mary, no matter how often she made it clear to him that she didn't want to know about it, and he constantly stressed that it was important for her to guard against the possibility that the other woman could win Henry's attention and affection again if she was not careful to keep him by her side constantly, instead of allowing him to be distracted by Katherine and by his daughter by her.

Despite her best efforts to ignore her father's warnings, despite her awareness of the fact that, if Henry was spending more time with his eldest daughter, that was a good thing, something that was likely to help the young girl – who was bound to be especially disappointed now that she knew that she was no longer the heir to the throne – become reconciled to the situation, and that she certainly had no need to feel threatened by Katherine, especially when she had just given Henry the son he longed for, a small part of her still felt uneasy about her father's warnings, unable to entirely dismiss them so it was a relief when Henry came to see her so often, to know that she was still the wife whose company he sought out.

"Look, sweetheart, we have a visitor." Henry said softly, seeing Arthur's nurse approach with their son in her arms. The woman curtsied before handing the baby to Henry, who kissed him and then passed him into Anne's arms, smiling at the sight of his wife and son. He stroked Arthur's downy head and kissed Anne's temple, motioning for the nurse to leave the room, allowing the little family some privacy. He watched in silence for a few moments as Anne cuddled Arthur close before speaking again. "The Prince will shortly be given his own establishment at Hatfield." He told her, his tone indicating that she should consider this good news.

Anne looked up at him in astonishment and dismay, instinctively tightening her grasp on Arthur. "What?"

"Not right away, sweetheart, not before you're churched, or before he is proclaimed Prince of Wales." Henry said. His tone was gentle but his mind was made up. It was only right that Arthur should have his own establishment and, although he would miss his son and knew that Anne would miss him too, he could not allow that to change his mind. "He is a royal child, sweetheart, and he should have a proper royal household of his own. Hatfield House is a very pleasant palace, in a healthy area and it's not far from here." He explained, smiling encouragingly at her. "Arthur is going to be the Prince of Wales, and nothing is too good for our son."

"But I thought that when he was older... I thought he'd go to Ludlow." Anne protested, trying to gather her thoughts. She had anticipated that, as Prince of Wales, Arthur would eventually be sent away to live at Ludlow Castle to govern Wales, at least nominally, but she had not anticipated that it would be so soon. Mary was nine when she was sent there as Princess of Wales but before that, Anne knew that she had resided at Whitehall, with a small household to tend to her needs, a household that Katherine had personally supervised, giving directions for the care of her daughter.

She had expected that it would be the same for Arthur.

She had expected that she would have at least nine or ten years with her son before she would have to say goodbye and watch him leave to live in a household by himself.

He was so small now!

"He'll go to Ludlow eventually, when he's older." Henry told her, rubbing her shoulder. "But until then, Hatfield will be a fine home for him, I promise, and we'll make sure that he has everything he could need or want, and that he will be treated with all honour." Anne's expression was one of stunned disbelief and he wondered how much of what he said that she had taken in. It was plain that she was shocked and devastated by the idea of parting with Arthur. He sighed. "You don't understand, sweetheart, this is the way it is with royal children. Our son is a Prince, and we need to make sure that we treat him like a Prince, especially when..." He trailed off, not wanting to allude to the unorthodox circumstances of their marriage and the need to ensure that nobody could allege that there was any doubt about their son's status and rights.

He had to be patient, he told himself, suppressing the faint impatience he felt towards her.

It wasn't Anne's fault.

She hadn't been born royal, after all, and although she had done very well when it came to learning what was expected of her in her role as a royal consort, probably far better than many of the members of his court had expected that she would, he couldn't expect her to instinctively know the kind of things that somebody who was born a princess would have been taught from birth, such as how it was only fitting that the heir to the throne should be supplied with an establishment of his one, one befitting his station, and how it was best for his household to be located in the countryside, where the air was healthier than it was in London.

She would need some time to get used to the idea.

He would have to give her that time.

He hoped that by letting her know what he planned now, when there were still five weeks to go before she could be churched and before there could be any question of sending Arthur away, she would have the time to become reconciled to the idea before their son's departure, and that she would come to understand the reasons for it and to appreciate that this was for the best.

It was on the tip of Anne's tongue to point out that Princess Mary, whom Henry had then considered to be his legitimate daughter and the rightful heiress to the throne, at least until she had a brother, had lived at court for the first nine years of her life but she couldn't make herself speak the words. She looked down at Arthur, who looked up at her with curious blue eyes, as though he could sense her distress and wondered what had upset her.

She was already having a difficult time getting his nurse to bring her to her when she wanted to see him.

What was she going to do when her baby was living in another palace, miles away?

She didn't want to let her tears flow but she couldn't keep them in check. Henry's arms were around her, hugging her gently, his lips brushing against her hair.

"Ssh, my love, you mustn't get so distressed about it, you'll make yourself sick." Henry chided her mildly, inwardly wondering if he should have waited for a couple of weeks longer before mentioning the matter, until Anne had had more time to recover from childbirth and was feeling stronger, or if he should have found a way to broach the subject more gently before telling himself that he had done the right thing by making his plans for their son plain to her sooner rather than later. It was best that she knew and that she could be prepared. It would have been cruel for him to wait, telling her only a matter of days, or even hours, before their son was due to depart. "You have to trust me when I tell you that this is for the best – you _do_ trust me, don't you?"

"Yes." Anne said quietly, nodding confirmation. She trusted him and she loved him and she knew that, if Henry was sending Arthur away, he would only do so if he thought that it was the right thing to do for their son. He loved Arthur and he would want their son to stay with them just as much as she did. He certainly wouldn't want to send him away unless he believed that it was in their son's best interests that he be granted a princely establishment, even at his tender age.

But despite her efforts to remind herself of that, despite the fact that she trusted her husband and believed that he was doing what he thought was right for their son, it didn't make it any easier to think that, in a matter of weeks from now, her son would be taken from her arms.

Nothing could make that easier.

* * *

The preacher who was the driving member of their small group of reformers was, by his nature, a serious man. He was passionate when he made his sermons, stressing the vices that were allowed and even encouraged by the Bishop of Rome and comparing the corruption of the Church to the teachings of Luther and the kind of strong, true Church of England that he felt the country deserved but, other than that, Cromwell had rarely seen him smile, despite the fact that he had known the man for almost three years... until now.

As soon as Cromwell heard the news that Anne was carrying a child, he had informed the preacher of this and, like him and the rest of their group, the man had welcomed the news wholeheartedly, declaring it to be a sign from God that the union of the King and the Princess Consort was a blessed one and leading many prayers that she would bear a strong son, a true heir for the kingdom and one who could be taught to see the true religion and to encourage and uphold it.

The day Arthur was born, when the bells tolled and cannons were fired to signal to London that the prince that England had hoped and prayed for for so long was here, Cromwell had managed to slip away from the celebrations for a couple of hours to pay the preacher a visit and found the man weeping for joy.

If the preacher had had any doubts about whether the King's second marriage was a true, valid one, those doubts were banished with Arthur's birth. The King himself had seen that the failure of Katherine of Aragon to provide him with the heir he needed was proof of the fact that their so-called marriage was no true union and that God had withheld the blessing of living male issue in order to show them the error of their ways and to show them that it was His will that they should separate and live in sin no longer.

By the same token, he hoped that the King would see that the birth of a healthy son by Anne was proof of the fact that, in the eyes of God, his marriage to her was blessed.

Since the day of the baby's birth, he was eager to hear news of little Prince Arthur, and of Anne's recovery, news that Cromwell, as the King's secretary, was in a position to be able to deliver.

"The Prince is doing very well, Master Harper." He reported before their meeting, conscious of the fact that several others who had arrived early were listening intently to what he had to say, all of them keen to hear what he had to say about the Prince. He thought that, next to the King, to Anne and to her family, the preacher was probably one of the happiest people in England over Arthur's safe arrival and his small, secret congregation shared his joy. "The physicians and his nurses all agree that he is a strong, healthy child, one of the strongest infants they have ever seen, and they predict that he will live and thrive. From what I have heard, Her Majesty is recovering well from childbirth and His Majesty the King is overjoyed."

"God be praised!" Master Harper said ecstatically. Though he was an Englishman by birth, he had spent many years abroad before returning to his own country, learning of Martin Luther's teachings, and he had a faint accent. "It is a sign, Master Cromwell, a sign of God's favour, and of his wish for the English Church to be purified... as it will be, through Queen Anne's good offices." There was a small collective gasp at his choice of a title for Anne from some of the others, though Cromwell did not bat an eye at it. "Queen Anne." He repeated firmly, looking around at his companions, reminding them that Anne was the lady who was truly entitled to the title of Queen.

As far as Master Harper was concerned, the King was no more married to the Lady Katherine than he was to _him_. Thanks to the Bishop of Rome taking it upon himself to speak for God, convincing him that he could dispense with the laws of God with nothing more than a few words on a papal bull, the King had unknowingly lived in sin with his brother's widow for many years, innocently believing that the Bishop of Rome's dispensation rendered the union a sinless one but, with God's help, he had come to see the truth and to do his utmost to set the situation to rights.

Cromwell had confided in him that the King no longer shared Lady Katherine's bed or table, and only appeared in public with her on occasions when diplomacy and public feeling simply would not allow her to be excluded. He had no interest in spending any more time with her than he must and preferred to devote himself to being a husband to Anne.

The King knew, as Master Harper knew, that he had only one wife: Queen Anne.

Diplomatically veering away from the subject of Anne's title – even if those present knew that the King's marriage to Katherine was invalid and that her claim to the title of Queen was a false one, the title had been hers for a long time and some of them would not yet be comfortable hearing it applied to another – Cromwell turned to the subject of the books he had given Anne. "Her Majesty has thanked me for bringing her Tyndale's work, and she has shown it to the King, who expresses great interest in it." He told them.

It was ironic, in a way.

But for her quarrel with Sir Thomas More, Anne might have taken much longer before she showed the book to the King, waiting until she felt that she could be surer of his reaction and that she did not need to worry that she would anger the man who had once prided himself on defending the authority of the Bishop of Rome before she confided in him about her religious beliefs but, thanks to More, she had been left with little alternative but to bring the book to the King's attention and he had shown great interest in it, much to the dismay of Cardinal Wolsey.

Cromwell's former patron might not dare to point out that, when Anne first obtained it, the book was illegal, with a heavy penalty for those who broke the law by bringing copies into the country or by having a copy in their possession but he was still troubled by it, especially as the King's interest seemed to be genuine, instead of merely feigned in order to please his pregnant wife, as he had initially hoped was the case, not wanting to believe that the King had begun to see the corruption of the Church in Rome for what it was, for fear that once he knew, he would seek to cleanse the English Church.

It was a sign of how powerful Anne's influence was when even Wolsey, who had once enjoyed more influence over the King than any other man could ever have hoped to, virtually running the country on his behalf, did not dare to speak a word against her or to try to dissuade the King from following her example when it came to the forbidden Lutheran books.

As Master Harper often said, Anne was their most powerful ally, though she did not yet know it, their best hope for a true reformation of the English Church. As the King's wife, she could encourage him to investigate the truth for himself and to make the changes that needed to be made. As the mother of the infant Prince, she could one day teach her son the truth and encourage him to continue the reformation that his father would hopefully begin.

There was no doubt in Master Harper's mind that God had chosen Anne to bring the truth to the King's ears, the truth that he would hear from nobody else, and to bring about a true reformation and, such was the preacher's fervour that there were times that Cromwell, who had never been a superstitious man or a man who was easily swayed, found himself believing it.

* * *

"I don't know what you're so upset about." Thomas Boleyn remarked testily, frowning down at his daughter. Like everybody else, he knew that, in her fragile condition after Arthur's birth, it was best to tread gently with her and to be very careful to avoid upsetting her for fear that her health would suffer if they did, slowing her recovery, but he couldn't help but feel irritated when he came to pay her a visit in the afternoon and found her fighting back tears, and her explanation for why she was so upset left him feeling rather bewildered. "You should be _pleased_ that the King is honouring the little Prince with a household of his own. It's only right that the heir to the throne should have his own establishment, you know that."

"But I thought that he would have his household here, at Whitehall." Anne objected. "Not on the other side of the country!"

"Don't exaggerate, Anne!" Boleyn snapped at her, before moderating his tone a little. "Hatfield is hardly on the other side of the country; it's only a couple of hours' journey from here by carriage, so you'll be able to see your son."

"I'll be able to _visit_ him, from time to time." Anne pointed out, knowing that she was unlikely to be able to get away to Hatfield as often as she wanted to. It would be bad enough trying to get away during the summer, when the weather was fine, but when autumn and winter came and the roads became too wet or too icy to allow her to make the journey, she would be obliged to stay at Whitehall while her son was at Hatfield. "If he was staying here, I'd be able to see him every day." She exhaled loudly, her frustration plain. "I don't understand – Princess Mary was able to live at court for _years_ before she was sent away."

Why was Henry sending their son away when Katherine was allowed to keep her daughter?

"The circumstances are different this time." Boleyn said bracingly. He had no intention of encouraging his daughter to persist in her moping. The sooner she realized that this was for the best and that there was no sense in sulking over what could not be helped, the better. Once she was on her feet again, she would have to make up for lost time and win the King's full attention and devotion again, securing her position as first in his heart and taking proper advantage of the fact that she had given him the son he craved by discreetly encouraging him to favour her family. She wouldn't be able to do that if she showed her unhappiness so openly. "I'm sure that the King knows that he can allow there to be no question over the Prince's rights as his lawful heir. He will be proclaimed Prince of Wales at the earliest opportunity and he will have his own establishment, so that nobody will be able to question his status."

Anne bit her lip, trying to keep tears of anger from flowing.

Why hadn't she thought of that before?

Henry would have taken care not to come out and say that the circumstances of their marriage meant that they had to be absolutely certain that there could be no question of anybody doubting baby Arthur's position or rights. He knew that it was far from easy for her to accept being relegated to the role of secondary consort and he certainly wouldn't want to add to her pain by explaining that, due to her position, their son's status was in question.

As far as he was concerned, Katherine was not his wife, she was merely his brother's widow but that did not mean that everybody in the country held the same view of the situation. Many people still viewed Katherine as Henry's wife in truth, not just in name. At court, Henry could insist that she enjoy equal precedence with Katherine and demand that courtiers accord her exactly the same degree of respect that they accorded the other woman but, no matter what he ordered, he couldn't change the fact that, for many of his people, she was Queen.

Was he afraid that there would be some among his people who would believe that the child of the Queen should take precedence over the child of the Princess Consort as heir to the throne, even when the former was a daughter and the latter was a son?

Was he afraid that, if he did not make it abundantly clear that their son was Prince of Wales and heir apparent, there would still be some who would view Princess Mary as his heir?

She felt a fresh surge of anger towards Katherine who, by refusing to step aside when it became plain to her that there was no hope that she would ever give Henry and England the prince they needed, had left them in this position, where Arthur had to be sent away in order to ensure that his right to be his father's heir would be unchallenged.

It wasn't fair!

Why should she have to be separated from her son because Katherine had not had the good sense to realize that it was better for almost all concerned if she would make things easy by stepping aside when Henry first told her that their marriage was invalid? Other women had before her, even Queens.

"In any case," her father was continuing, still in the same bracing tone. "You can be sure that the Prince will be well-cared for in his new household. The King will ensure that he has only the best, so you will have no need to worry about him – and you have more important things to worry about, in any case. You're not going to give England a Duke of York by this time next year by fussing over Prince Arthur, are you?" He pointed out. "There are plenty of women who will be able to tend to little Arthur's needs but youare the only one who can give England more fine princes."

Anne was very tempted to scream at her father or to snatch up a book or goblet from beside her bed and pitch it at his head.

She had just borne a beautiful, healthy son, a perfect little prince, and made her father the grandfather of a future King of England. Why couldn't he be satisfied with that, at least for a short while, before he started to think in terms of her next child?

She was realistic enough to know that she would be expected to produce a second son in the not too distant future but surely she could be allowed to wait more than a matter of days after the birth of her first son before she had to worry about another child? She was still young, as was Henry, so it was not as if they stood in danger of running out of time.

Her father was watching her expectantly, waiting for her to agree that he was right about the fact that she should content herself with leaving Arthur to the care of others while she focused her energy on providing him with as younger brother, or to agree that it was for the best that her son was to be sent away to his own household before he was even old enough to cut his own tooth but Anne couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear and she didn't want him around her, not now.

She feigned a yawn, knowing that he was unlikely to be fooled by it but not caring. She couldn't worry about placating him, not when it was taking all her energy not to cry over her impending separation from her son.

"Forgive me, Papa, I feel tired." She told him stonily, not meeting his eyes. "I think I need to rest for a while."

"Of course, my dear." He responded, as though by rote, inclining his head slightly. "I'll leave you to your rest." He left Anne's apartment then, keeping his expression bland to ensure that nobody could see that he was worried and wonder about what was troubling him.

As he had told Anne, they should be pleased about the fact that baby Arthur was to be given his own establishment, as befitted a prince, but he still had some concerns about it, especially in light of the fact that the King had spent so much more time with his daughter by Katherine recently than he had been wont to do since his marriage to Anne. Arthur was the King's long sought-after male heir and Boleyn was sure that his grandson's father would continue to cherish him as a result but he knew that the King was also very fond of Princess Mary, and that even the birth of a son would not keep him from loving his first living child.

Mary was a threat to their interests on more than one front.

Firstly, despite the fact that Anne had tried to make overtures to her young stepdaughter, understanding that the situation was difficult for the girl and hoping to be able to ease things for her, Mary was far from interested in meeting her halfway, much less showing gratitude for Anne's attempts at being kind to her. Her loyalty was to her mother and, although she might not dare to come out and say so openly, knowing how her father would react if she did, he was sure that she viewed Anne as nothing more than the usurper of her mother's place.

If the King began to spend more time with his daughter, it certainly was not something that was likely to work in Anne's favour. Instead, it would work to her detriment as the King was more likely to speak to Katherine about their daughter than he was to include Anne in any discussions about Mary, and that was something that Boleyn did not need or want.

He was quite content to see his daughter as the only wife that the King loved or wished to spend time with and he had no desire to see Katherine regaining any measure of her former influence.

Secondly, Mary was twelve, a princess of marriageable age. She was betrothed to the Duke of Orleans but any courtier with sense knew that Katherine would be far from sorry if that betrothal was set aside in favour of one she deemed to be more suitable. She had never liked the idea of a French marriage for her beloved daughter, favouring a Spanish match instead.

The Emperor might have decided against waiting to marry Mary but he had a son of his own now, and if Katherine managed to convince the King that it would be better for him to arrange a betrothal between Mary and little Prince Philip, it would make her daughter the future Queen of Spain. Not only did Boleyn balk at the thought of Mary winning one of the finest matches in Europe, especially since Anne was likely to produce a daughter at some point, one whose older sister would be competition for her in the marriage market, he did not like the idea of Mary winning such a powerful alliance by marriage.

The Emperor had succeeded in preventing the annulment of the King's marriage to Katherine, an annulment that the pope would surely have granted if one of the parties in the Great Matter had not been the aunt of such a powerful man, so who was to say that, in years to come, either he or his son might be able to prevail on a future pope to invalidate the dispensation Clement had granted allowing the King to take a second wife, annulling Anne's marriage to the King, making little Arthur a bastard and Mary the heir to the throne.

If that happened, England would be swallowed whole by Spain, becoming nothing more than a province on the outer edges of an empire, and there would be civil war between those who supported Arthur and those who championed Mary as heir, something that could never be allowed.

Perhaps most troubling of all for Boleyn was the fact that the King still loved his daughter, despite everything that had happened and despite his anger towards her mother.

He claimed to believe that he viewed Mary as nothing more than a bastard, and that only the Emperor's interference and the pope's cowardice allowed her to keep her title as a princess, a title he insisted that she had no true right to, just as Katherine had no true right to the title of Queen, but he was still fond of her and, if he continued to spend time with her and to remember how much he had once cherished her, he would be far less inclined to want to think of her as the bastard that she was... which meant that he might even come to view Katherine as a wife rather than the woman with whom he had unwittingly lived in sin for years.

He would never consider restoring her as heir ahead of baby Arthur, Boleyn could rest easy on that count, but if he was fond of her, he would wish to honour her and he would expect others to do so.

If little Arthur was to be sent away to Hatfield while Mary remained at court, then the King would see his daughter far more frequently than he saw his son and, as Mary was older, she would be better able to capture his attention and entertain him than a baby could be expected to. Through her daughter, Katherine would have a claim on the King's attentions that Anne, whose son was absent, would not.

As long as she remained at Whitehall, Mary was a threat and, as such, she needed to be removed but that was something that would be easier said than done.

Boleyn would need to tread carefully if he wanted to persuade the King that his daughter should be sent away as well as his son, taking special care to ensure that the King did not guess his motives for championing the idea of Mary's removal.

When he reached the King's study, his son-in-law was poring over several lists but he gave Boleyn a smile of welcome when he entered, motioning for him to take a seat.

"My Lord Wiltshire." He greeted him warmly. "How is Anne feeling?" It was less than an hour since he had left her side but Henry was always anxious for fresh news, especially when he knew that the news he had given her had come as a shock, and he was anxious to be reassured that all was well. "She was upset when I told her about the Prince's household."

"I think that she is reconciled to the idea – or will be." Boleyn amended, not wanting the King to think that his daughter was an unfeeling mother, one who could accept the idea of her child being taken away from her with scarcely a pang of regret. "It is difficult for her, as I am sure Your Majesty can understand, but I believe that she knows that Your Majesty is acting for the best, even if it is painful for her to think of the Prince leaving."

Henry nodded comprehension, returning his attention to the lists in front of him for a moment before giving his father-in-law a wry smile. "Arrangements for the Prince's establishment." He explained, indicating the lists with a wave of his hand.

He had never imagined the work it took to make arrangements for the household of a royal child. Katherine had handled the bulk of the arrangements for Mary's nursery, and for that of their short-lived son, and when Mary was sent away to Ludlow, Wolsey had volunteered to see to the necessary arrangements. There was so much to be arranged; he had to settle on the number of servants that should be appointed to tend to Arthur's needs, and the kind of income that would be set aside to meet his expenses and those of his household, and would have to carefully vet the candidates for positions at Hatfield, from the Lady Governess who would take charge of Arthur's welfare and education for the first six years of his life, to the rockers who would take turns lulling him to sleep, ensuring that they were worthy of their positions and that there was no taint of madness or criminal behaviour in their family lines.

They were to have charge of his precious son so he could not be too careful choosing them.

"May I, Your Majesty?" Boleyn asked, indicating one of the shorter lists and waiting for Henry to nod assent before he picked it up. "Prospective governesses for the Prince?" He recognized quite a few of the names on the list, some of which had been crossed out with a few of them circled, indicating which candidates had been ruled out and which candidates were most likely to be considered. He scanned the list for a few moments before singling out one of the names. "Lady Margaret Bryan – I know the lady, Your Majesty, she was kin to my late wife." Marrying into the Howard family had been a triumph for Boleyn, one of his greatest until his daughter became the King's wife, and he liked to remind people of the connection.

"I plan to wait before making a final selection, until I've spoken to Anne about it." Henry confided. "I think it will be easier for her if she is able to help choose the governess who will care for our son. I want to make sure that it's somebody she can trust." If Lady Bryan was a kinswoman of Anne's, even a distant one, then perhaps Anne would be able to reconcile herself to the idea of entrusting her with Arthur's care.

"I think that it will be helpful for her if she can feel certain that she can trust the prince's governess to care for him when she cannot." Boleyn agreed smoothly, pleased to see that the King was concerned about Anne's reaction and about making this as easy for her as he could. It would certainly be a helpful beginning if the King could be persuaded that it would be best for Anne if Princess Mary was also sent away. "Of course, Lady Bryan has not acted as a governess before – though, as I understand it, she is a well-educated woman and I know her to be a kind one – but I am sure that Lady Salisbury will be pleased to give her any advice she needs."

"Lady Salisbury?" Henry glanced up, puzzled by the mention of Mary's governess.

"Will she not be accompanying Princess Mary to Hatfield when the royal children journey there?" Boleyn asked, affecting innocence. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, I assumed that she would..."

"Who told you that Princess Mary would be travelling to Hatfield with the Prince?" Henry asked, cutting him off and wondering where Boleyn could have got the idea from, and if Anne also believed that Mary would be going to Hatfield with Arthur. "Does Anne think that she is?"

"I don't know, Your Majesty, I did not mention the Princess to Anne, so I cannot say if she expects that Princess Mary will join the Prince at Hatfield... I simply assumed that you would wish for both of the royal children to live in the country together, sharing a household. As Your Majesty knows, it is important for the royal family to present a united front, particularly under the circumstances, and I thought that you intended for the Prince and the Princess to live together." He said hastily, hoping to make his suggestion appeal to Henry before he dismissed it off-hand. He inclined his head, as if in apology. "Please forgive me if I was mistaken, Your Majesty."

"There's nothing to forgive." Henry responded automatically, thinking over what Boleyn had said.

The idea of sending both Arthur and Mary away to Hatfield was one that had not occurred to him but that did not mean that the idea was without merit.

Mary had had a household of her own before, of course. The only reason why he had summoned her back to court from Ludlow Castle was that, as his daughter was no longer to enjoy the title of Princess of Wales or the rights and privileges of that title, there could be no question of her continuing to reside in the traditional residence of the heir to the throne, for fear that if she continued to live there, it would lead to confusion about her status. He certainly did not need to have a situation where Anne might bear him a son but Mary would still be viewed as Princess of Wales and as heiress to the throne.

Ludlow Castle would have to be reserved until such a time as Arthur was old enough to travel there but that did not mean that Mary could not have her own establishment away from court.

Under other circumstances, he would have sent her to another palace or royal manor by now, with a household that would be suitable for a Princess of England, even if it could not be as large as the one she enjoyed as Princess of Wales but, over the past year or so, life was so hectic that he had never found the time to arrange for his daughter to be sent to a new establishment of her own.

However, that was no reason why he should not rectify that omission now.

He had never thought about the possibility of sending both of his children to the same palace but, on reflection, it made sense; as a child, he and his siblings had shared a household separate from their parents, so why should he not do the same for Arthur and for Mary?

Boleyn watched in silence, easily able to imagine the King's train of thought. He remained silent for another few moments before speaking again, in a deferential, slightly apologetic tone. "If Your Majesty will forgive me for saying so, I think that it would be very wise if Princess Mary also goes to live at Hatfield when the Prince does. My fear is that if she remains at court, there might be some who believe that the little Prince is being banished from the court, and that Your Majesty prefers Princess Mary as your next heir."

He was about to elaborate, to point out that there could be some wrong-headed people who would wish to champion Mary as heir to the throne ahead of Arthur and who would be only too pleased to seize the opportunity to hint that Arthur's removal from court could indicate that his father viewed him as a bastard rather than as a prince, as second in importance to his older sister, or maybe even to suggest that, as the King believed Mary to be a bastard, it could be wise for him to make that plain by sending her to share a household with her half-brother, knowing that she would have to yield precedence to him at all times, whether she and her mother liked it or not, but he saw the frown creasing Henry's brow and wisely held his tongue.

He had said enough and, if he said too much, he could turn the King against the idea.

Henry was silent as he mulled over Boleyn's words.

What he was saying made a great deal of sense – so much so that Henry felt rather irritated with himself for not thinking of the message that sending Arthur away while keeping Mary at court might send, to his people, to the court and, most importantly, to the mother of his son.

The last thing he wanted was for Anne to feel that he would rather have his daughter by Katherine living under his roof than their beautiful little son. She was already unhappy enough about the prospect of separation from Arthur without him adding to her pain by allowing her to believe that he viewed Arthur as second to Mary in any way.

Arthur was his son and heir, soon to be proclaimed Prince of Wales and he was therefore first among the royal children and entitled to be honoured as such.

He could allow no possible shred of doubt over his status.

Where Mary was concerned, Henry told himself that his daughter was also likely to be much better off if she left court and resided at Hatfield instead. Mary had never been as robust as he might have hoped a child of his would be, so the air of the country, safely removed from the contagions of the court, would be better for her health. At Hatfield, she would be able to continue with her studies in peace, without being disrupted by court revels. She would have the chance to spend more time with her baby brother and to grow to love him as a sister should. Removed from Katherine's influence, she would learn that, even if she had once believed that she would be the next Queen of England, that was not the fate that God had intended for her.

Arthur was destined to be England's next ruler while Mary would one day, with God's help, be a good wife and mother.

At Hatfield, although Arthur's governess would run the household, Mary's governess would be able to teach her the lessons that nobly and royally born girls needed to learn about directing their own households. In a few years time, when Mary was old enough to either be married or to move to a separate establishment of her own, she would be responsible for governing her own household, without relying on either Katherine or Lady Salisbury to shoulder the burden for her.

Of course, even if it was better for Mary to leave court, it did not mean that she should have to share Arthur's establishment at Hatfield, Henry was aware of that.

He could select another royal manor and send his daughter there with a household of her own.

However, he knew that if he chose to do this, it was inevitable that comparisons would be made between the establishments of his son and daughter, with people trying to determine which of his children he loved and esteemed most. They would compare the number of servants each child was granted, the size and grandeur of their respective residences and even the distance between his children's establishments and Whitehall. If they were together, then nobody could allege that one child was housed more grandly than the other, or that he wished to keep one child closer to him, to allow more frequent visits, while the other was sent further away.

As Prince of Wales and heir to the throne, Arthur was entitled to a larger household of servants than his older sister was but, in all other respects, they would enjoy the same luxuries.

Boleyn also had a point about the importance of making a show of unity.

In the eyes of the Church and under English law, Arthur and Mary were both considered legitimate, despite the fact that their father was married to Mary's mother before he married Arthur's. Legally, Anne and Katherine were both his wives, enjoying equal status as such. What better way to show that than by having the children of both of his marriages sharing a household?

Boleyn was still waiting for him to respond so Henry smiled at him, letting the other man know that he was not angry with him for the suggestion he had made. On the contrary, he was grateful to Boleyn for bringing the matter to his attention, noticing something that none of the other members of his council had perceived.

"Thank you for your council, my Lord Wiltshire." He said formally, inwardly noting that he would have to make arrangements to further ennoble Boleyn, now that he was the grandfather of England's next King. "Your advice is greatly appreciated, and I will take it into consideration when I make my decision."

Another man might have felt some disappointment over the fact that Henry had not come out and openly pledged that he would send Princess Mary away when Prince Arthur travelled to Hatfield but Boleyn was satisfied. The King might not have actually said that he would go along with the idea but Boleyn knew him well enough to be certain that he would.

Within a week or so, or perhaps even a couple of days if he was especially eager, Henry would come up with the idea of sending his daughter away with his son, broaching the idea to all of the members of his Privy Council, Boleyn included, as though the suggestion was born from his own mind and had not been prompted by another. When he made the suggestion, Boleyn and the other members of the Privy Council – with the possible exception of Sir Thomas More, to whom Henry had been rather cool since his quarrel with Anne over her books – would hasten to agree that it was an excellent idea and that it truly was best for all concerned if the two royal children were sent away together.

When Arthur left to begin his journey to Hatfield, Mary would accompany him and the King, having convinced himself that it was his idea that she should, would be unwilling to listen to any arguments or pleading, from her or from her mother, that she should be permitted to remain at court instead.

Boleyn could rest easy now.

Within a couple of months, at the very most, Princess Mary would be gone from court and he would have no reason to worry about the possibility of her winning the King's attention away from Anne, much less directing it towards her mother.

He only hoped that his daughter would have the sense to appreciate all he did for her.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**_26th May 1530_ **

Lady Bryan, governess to the infant Prince of Wales, curtsied deeply when she reached the threshold of the Princess Consort's apartments, carefully balancing baby Arthur in her arms. "Your Majesty, I have brought His Highness the Prince to say goodbye." She said kindly, knowing how difficult it must be for a new mother to have to say goodbye to her child and allow him to be turned over to the care of others. Even if the mother was a royal consort, mother of a Prince, it would still have to be painful for her to bid her child farewell, knowing that she wouldn't be able to see him except on the rare occasions when she could get away from the palace. She passed Arthur into Anne's arms, curtseying a second time when Henry entered the room through the door leading from the gallery connecting their apartments. "Your Majesty." She greeted him.

"Lady Bryan." Henry nodded in response, moving to Anne's side and putting one arm around her, cupping Arthur's tiny head with his free hand and smiling as his son turned his head slightly to look up at him with curious eyes. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" He asked Anne gently, kissing the top of her head. Mary had been brought to his apartment to bid him farewell, kneeling to receive her father's blessing before she made her way to her mother's apartments to say goodbye to her, then down to the courtyard, where the carriages awaited the two children and their attendants. He had hastened to Anne's rooms as soon as his daughter left, wanting to say goodbye to his son and knowing that his wife was sure to need him there with her when their son's governess carried him away. "Lady Bryan is going to take wonderful care of Arthur – aren't you, Lady Bryan?"

"Of course, Your Majesty." Lady Bryan was all but glowing with pride at being entrusted with the care of the infant heir to the throne and was determined that she would do the finest job of looking after Arthur and running his household that anybody possibly could. She would guard his health zealously and, when the time came, she would give him his first lessons, ensuring that by the time he was six years old, old enough for his education to be given over to the charge of a tutor, he would already be well-grounded in the basic lessons a well-born child must learn.

Neither the King nor the Princess Consort would ever have the slightest cause for complaint about the care she gave their child. Instead, she would give them every reason to be thankful to her, and to richly reward her for her good service to them and to the little Prince. When the little Prince was older, he would remember the governess of his childhood fondly, and seek to reward her for the care and devotion she had shown him during his earliest years, and to favour her family.

This was her chance and she would not waste it.

"Thank you, Lady Bryan." Anne said, kissing Arthur's tiny cheeks and biting her lip to keep tears from flowing as her son gripped her finger in one plump hand. "You be a good boy for Lady Bryan, my precious boy." She told him, her voice choking. Arthur regarded with curious, almost troubled eyes, as though he could see that she was distressed and was concerned about it but unable to understand why she should be upset.

"Goodbye, my son." Henry told the baby, kissing him again before beckoning for Lady Bryan to take Arthur again. Anne didn't place the baby into his governess' arms, tightening her grasp on him and shaking her head. "Sweetheart, it's time for Arthur to set off." He said gently, thinking that it would be better for Anne if they didn't drag out the goodbyes too long, especially when she was already distressed at the prospect of separation. She shook her head again, more vehemently this time, tears shining in her blue eyes and he sighed, hugging her to him. "Alright, sweetheart, we'll go down with him if that's what you want." He said, indicating that Lady Bryan should follow them down while Anne carried Arthur.

If it made it easier for Anne to carry their son down herself, Henry knew that he would never have the heart to refuse her that consolation, even if it was more fitting for Lady Bryan to do it.

Katherine and Mary were already down in the courtyard, with Katherine holding Mary's two hands in hers and saying something to her that Anne and Henry couldn't hear. Katherine straightened when she saw them approach, nodding at Henry. "Your Majesty." She greeted him calmly but in a cool voice. Had she believed that she had any chance of persuading him to change his mind about sending Mary away, she would have remonstrated with Henry, even here, in the presence of others, including Anne, but she knew that it would do no good.

She had tried already, to no avail.

Henry had not even done her the courtesy of coming to her himself to let her know that he intended to send their daughter away, choosing to leave the task of bringing her the news to Cardinal Wolsey, the same man charged with telling her that Mary was to be sent away to Ludlow Castle when the little Duke of Richmond was granted his own household but Katherine had gone straight to Henry's private chambers when she was told the news, to confront her husband directly and to appeal to him to allow Mary to remain with them – or, if he had to send their dear child to a residence separate from theirs, to establish a household for her in one of the London palaces at his disposal instead, so that they might keep her close to them.

Wolsey had turned Hampton Court over to Henry years ago, something that had delighted Henry, who greatly admired the palace, deeming it to be finer than any he possessed – though Katherine imagined that Wolsey was far from delighted to part with the palace that was known to be his pride and joy. Katherine believed that the palace Wolsey had built, sparing no expense in terms of its construction, decoration or furnishing, would be a worthy residence for her beloved daughter, one befitting the King of England's eldest child, but Henry dismissed her suggestion that Mary might have her establishment there instead of at Hatfield as soon as she made it, insisting that Hatfield was the most fitting place for their daughter to be sent and making it clear that he was not willing to consider any alternative residence, regardless of her pleas.

Mary's presence was the only source of consolation Katherine had for the fact that Henry had taken Anne as his second wife as, but for that, her daughter would still be far away at Ludlow, as befitted the heiress to the throne, but now even that consolation was to be snatched away from her, and on the orders of her husband, the father of the child being exiled to the country.

She had not wanted to believe that Henry would be willing to do this to her, after everything else that had happened, when he must surely know how much pain it would cause her to lose Mary and, worse still, how much it would hurt Mary to know that her father no longer wished to allow her to reside under the same roof as her parents.

Henry had not listened to her pleas, nor was he moved by them. He was merely impatient when she came before him to ask him to reconsider his plans for Mary, displeased that she had entered his chambers uninvited – though he surely knew as well as she did that if she had waited for an invitation, she would never have seen him. He never sent for her these days, nor did he ever pay her a visit in her own apartments and it was very rare that she received any kind of message from him, unless he was sending a note to thank her for the shirts she still sewed for him.

One by one, he was severing his ties to her and did not seem to even regret doing so.

Although, for a short, happy time after Arthur's birth, it seemed as though Henry would treat her in a more friendly manner, spending more time with her and with Mary, and speaking with her as he used to, that had lasted only until Anne was strong enough to rise from her bed, after which Henry had spent every spare hour with her, even before she was churched, fawning over Anne and over their new little son, showering them both with gifts, and never going near Katherine or Mary.

It was though he wanted to make it plain to all of the court that Anne and Arthur were his family now, not his first wife and not even his daughter by her.

Ambassador Mendoza had theorized that Anne had been warned to take care to ensure that she did not allow Henry's attentions to stray from her, for fear that she would lose a large measure of the influence she currently wielded if they did, and that she was doing her utmost to ensure that Henry spent so much time with her and with Arthur that he did not have a moment to spare for anybody else, least of all his first wife and daughter. Katherine wasn't certain whether or not she believed this to be the case – surely Anne knew by now that she didn't need to worry about her position in Henry's heart being threatened – but whatever the reason for it, the effect was the same. Henry didn't want his first wife to come near him.

When Katherine came to speak to him, it was plain that he didn't want to see her.

_"I have made my decision, madam." His voice was icy as he addressed her, and he pointedly refused to meet her eyes. He kept his gaze directed at the pile of papers in front of him and he continued to peruse them, making it clear that she was interrupting and that he considered that he had more important things to do than speak to her, even when the subject was the future of their own darling daughter. "It is my wish that Mary will travel to Hatfield with Lady Salisbury and with her household and reside there for the foreseeable future."_

_It took a great effort on Katherine's part to keep a pleasant smile on her face and to keep the anger from her tone as she spoke. Arguing with Henry would accomplish nothing but perhaps there was a chance that she might be able to persuade him if she reasoned with him. "Mary is doing so well here, Henry," she said calmly. She would have liked to refer to him as 'husband' but she knew that he would be angry if she did, and that he wouldn't listen to a word she had to say. "She is progressing well with her lessons and she loves being at court with us, and I know that she loves being close to you." She added persuasively, in the hopes that the thought of his daughter's adoration might soften him. "And she is growing up so quickly; she's not a little girl anymore, she's growing into a young woman now, a lovely and accomplished young woman. Don't you think that her place is at court, where she can be presented to envoys from other monarchs?"_

_With less than two years to go before Mary's marriage to the Duke of Orleans was due to take place, Katherine knew that she did not have much time if she wanted to encourage another match, one that would not involve her beloved daughter marrying into the Valois family or being sent to join the licentious French court. God knew what might happen to her there! It was certainly not a place that Katherine would wish to see her daughter live._

_It was vital that Mary should be at court, to remind visiting ambassadors of the existence of a Princess of England of marriageable age, if they wanted to find another match for her, a better one than the one that was arranged for her at present, as the Duke of Orleans was only a second son, one who would never sit on the French throne as long as his brother lived._

_Henry scowled at her in response to her plea. "I have said that I wish for Mary to go to Hatfield." He repeated slowly. "Did you not hear me, madam? Mary will travel to Hatfield with the Prince, to share his household, as I have ordered. I will not discuss the issue any further with you."_

Wolsey hadn't mentioned Arthur at all when he brought her the news that Mary was to be taken from her once more, much less told her that the two children were to share a household from now on. Katherine had never imagined that this would be the case; Mary was twelve years Arthur's senior, and could not share his nursery any more than he could share her tutors and lessons. It was unnecessary and, in some ways, impractical for the two children to share a household and Katherine felt irritated when she heard that this was what Henry intended.

Why, after two years of having their daughter living with them, had Henry decided that he now wished for Mary to be sent away? Was he afraid that Anne might feel threatened or put out if he sent their son away while allowing Mary to remain at court? If he did want Mary to leave court, why did she have to share an establishment with her baby half-brother?

If Mary was to be sent away from court once more, then the very least she deserved was to be supplied with a household and royal residence of her own, instead of having to share one with a baby. Arthur was the Prince of Wales so, even if Hatfield was officially the shared household of the royal children, it would be Arthur's household in everything but name, and the infant would be the highest-ranking person there, the nominal head of the household, outranking his elder sister, the girl who was heir to the throne for twelve years before he was born.

Any visitors coming to see Mary would even be required to pay their respects to baby Arthur first, before they might visit his sister.

Even the household attendants who were stowing the children's belongings on wagons so that they could be safely conveyed to Hatfield wore the blue and green livery of the Prince of Wales, the livery that Mary's household had worn when they accompanied her to Ludlow Castle when she was still called Princess of Wales. Mary's personal retinue, a smaller one by far than the one that had attended her at Ludlow, stood out from the members of Arthur's household, as they wore the black livery of Henry's household, emblazoned with the red and white Tudor rose.

Officially, they were Henry's servants, not hers.

Outside the gates of Whitehall, a crowd of people had gathered to watch, eager to see the procession and to cheer the two royal children as they set off. Katherine knew that it would be plain to all of them that little Arthur enjoyed higher status than Mary, as was undoubtedly Henry's intention when this procession was arranged.

Under no circumstances would he be prepared to allow anybody to entertain even a slight shadow of a doubt about the respective positions of his son and daughter.

His son was first, and he wanted everybody to know it.

Katherine had said her goodbyes to Mary as a mother to her daughter already, in the privacy of her apartment. Now it was time for her to formally bid farewell to her as Queen to Princess. Although it pained her to have to preserve a measure of distance around her beloved child, Katherine had been too well schooled in the duties of royalty to allow herself to betray her weakness before others, particularly when the common people were watching her movements, expecting to see their Queen behave with the same dignity and grace that had characterized her public behaviour since the day she arrived in England, so many years ago, as Arthur's bride.

Embraces were something that took place privately, away from prying eyes, and any tears to be shed were shed when she was alone, without even the company of one of her ladies. Before others, she must always appear to be the Queen they expected her to be, calm and dignified at all times, keeping her emotions concealed beneath a mantle of royalty. Even Mary, at twelve, had learned that lesson well enough to ensure that the tears shining in her eyes remained unshed and she was even able to smile slightly as she waved to the people who called out her name, knowing that they wanted to see their lovely young Princess, not a weeping girl.

However, it seemed that Anne had never learned that level of self-control.

She cradled Arthur in her arms for several minutes, kissing her son over and over and speaking softly to him, allowing her to catch one of her fingers in his tiny hand and clutch it tightly. Henry was by her side, one arm wrapped around her shoulders in a protective gesture as he leaned closer to her ear, whispering something to her. Katherine could imagine that he was trying to coax Anne into relinquishing Arthur to his Lady Governess, who was waiting patiently for her tiny charge to be turned over to her arms so that she might get him settled in the carriage before they set off.

Anne finally nodded, allowing Lady Bryan to lift Arthur from her arms and choking back a sob as she did so. Tears trickled down her cheeks and, at the sight of them, Henry tugged her into his embrace, holding her close to him and gently wiping away the tears, murmuring soothing words that seemed to prompt Anne to weep more openly rather than to make an effort to control herself. It was as if she was either unaware of the fact that others were present, watching her, or that she knew they were there but cared nothing about what they thought of her.

Alarmed by his mother's distress, Arthur began to wail, his tiny, chubby arms flailing as he wriggled in his governess' arms, anxious for his mother to take him in her arms once more and for his little world to be set to rights. At a nod from Henry, Lady Bryan whisked him away, doing her best to console the baby boy as she bore him towards his carriage.

"It's alright, sweetheart, we'll see him soon, I promise." Katherine didn't want to hear what Henry was saying to Anne, both because she knew that his words were not meant for her ears and because it pained her to hear her husband speaking so tenderly to another woman, especially when he knew that she and Mary were standing there watching him and clearly did not care how they might feel to hear the love in his voice as he spoke to Anne, to know that he would not be looking in their direction with the same love or concern.

Did he even remember how much he used to love Katherine, or how many happy years they had spent together as man and wife before he saw Anne and desired her so much that he was willing to cast aside his wife of many years and brand his only living child a bastard if it meant that he could have her?

If he remembered, did he care?

Mary's eyes were dark with disapproval as she watched Anne, undoubtedly scornful that an adult, a royal consort, should so forget herself as to display her emotions in a manner that she had been taught was inappropriate for a member of the royal family, at least in the presence of others, since she was a small child… or perhaps there was a part of her that envied Anne, who was able to break the rules and who was petted and consoled when she did so rather than chided and reminded that she should control herself. She was still a young girl, one who craved her father's affection. Perhaps she wished that she was the one Henry was hugging.

Katherine was uncomfortably conscious of the fact that there was a part of her that found the idea of weeping, even here in front of hundreds of people, courtiers, commoners and members of the children's households alike, appealing in a way and that she would have liked to be the one to feel Henry's arms around her and to hear him whispering consoling words in her ear.

She was losing Mary, just as Anne was losing Arthur but Henry only cared about Anne's pain.

When Arthur was born, Margaret had remarked that it was sensible of Anne to sleep through the excitement of the first day of her son's life, sparing herself the strain of having to receive a horde of well wishers. Perhaps the same could be said for the freedom she allowed herself to reveal her emotions, even in public. Perhaps she was right not to strive to hide them.

Katherine could hear murmurs of sympathy from the watching crowd and imagined that some of the women watching, mothers who were easily able to imagine how they might feel if they were obliged to part with their own babies, were watching Anne now, feeling pity for her and thinking that it was a shame that she and her son were to be parted so soon, when Arthur was just a little baby who needed his mother's company and care, and that they were pleased to see that Henry was fussing over her and soothing her, pleased that she had her husband's love to comfort her.

More and more eyes seemed to be drawn to Henry and to Anne than to Katherine and Mary.

Katherine laid a gentle hand on Mary's shoulder, giving her an encouraging smile. "Lady Salisbury is ready to bring you to your carriage, dearest." She said quietly, seeing her daughter's governess waiting a few paces away. With Arthur already in his carriage with Lady Bryan and with the baggage already packed and the household assembled, they only needed to wait for Mary to climb into her carriage before they could set off. She bent down slightly, kissing her daughter ceremoniously on both cheeks before whispering, too softly for anybody but Mary to hear her words. "Always remember who you are. You are the descendant of Ferdinand and Isabella, and the daughter of the King of England. Be strong."

It was almost the same thing that she had said nearly three years ago, to give Mary courage when she first set off for Ludlow Castle as a little girl of nine, one who was frightened by the prospect of leaving the palace that had been her home all of her short life and upset at the thought of being separated from her mother, especially when she knew that Ludlow Castle was so far away from London that they would not be able to visit one another except on rare occasions, though she tried to be brave and to hide her feelings but Katherine's words were slightly different this time.

This time, she couldn't promise Mary that she would be Queen one day.

To do so could be construed as an act of treason, or as an indication that she intended to harm baby Arthur, something she would never so much as consider doing. As much as she would have wished that Mary could have remained her father's heiress, as fervently as she believed that England would be better served if it was ruled by the granddaughter of the great Isabella and Ferdinand than it could be if a son of Anne's sat on the throne in Mary's place, she would never have tried to harm Arthur, not even if by doing so she could win the English throne for Mary.

Mary nodded gravely in response to her words, curtseying to her mother before allowing Lady Salisbury to guide her towards the carriage. There were two carriages in the courtyard, both of them decorated with the royal coat of arms and the Tudor rose, but the one Mary was led towards was the second one. As Prince of Wales, Arthur's carriage would precede hers.

He was the heir to the throne and it was therefore his right to go first, always.

Once Mary had been helped into her carriage, with Lady Salisbury climbing in after her, the gentleman chosen to act as baby Arthur's chamberlain strode through the courtyard, armed with a long list of people and baggage to be accounted for, and checked the final few items off his list. Once his inventory was complete, he nodded in Henry's direction, indicating that all was in order and that the procession might set off at his command.

Henry, absorbed with consoling a tearful Anne, merely nodded in return, granted his permission for the procession to set off. With one arm still around Anne, he waved at Arthur's carriage as it set off, blowing a kiss. Once the carriages had left the courtyard, and the servants and baggage followed in their wake, he began to guide Anne back in the direction of the palace, leaning closer to her to whisper soothing promises that they would visit Arthur soon.

"We'll give him a couple of weeks to get settled in, then we'll travel to Hatfield to see him – we can even stay overnight if you'd like to spend longer there with him," he added, thinking that even if it was an inconvenience for the servants in the children's establishment to have to ready the country palace to receive and entertain the King and Princess Consort in the manner their rank demanded, especially when they would have had only a short time to get Arthur and Mary settled there, they would simply have to deal with that if Anne wanted to spend the night there.

The skin on the back of his neck prickled, warning him that somebody was watching him and he looked behind him to see Katherine's gaze upon him and upon Anne, a faintly disapproving expression on her face. He could guess that if she spoke to him, she would make some remark about how Anne needed to learn to conceal her emotions in public, as royalty did and he felt a surge of anger towards her for the words he imagined that she might speak. He scowled at her, an unspoken warning that he would not allow her to voice any word of reproach about Anne.

Katherine had no right to criticize Anne in any way!

It was natural that Anne would be upset to see Arthur set off on his journey to Hatfield, even if she would come to understand, in time, that it was for the best that their son had his own establishment, even at his tender age. Katherine might be able to veil her feelings, even at a time like this, but that did not mean that Anne had to emulate her or that he expected her to.

If Anne was upset, he would comfort her and to Hell with protocol!

Wolsey had advised that, as Anne was certain to be distressed at the thought of being separated from Arthur, it would be wise to arrange some cheerful distractions for her to take her mind off Arthur, suggesting that Henry should spend time hunting with her, and at other outdoor pursuits during the day, with dancing, games and entertainments in the evenings. During the first weeks following Arthur's departure, he would need to take special care of Anne.

Henry had every intention of following the cardinal's recommendation and he enumerated the amusements he had planned for her to Anne, feeling delighted when she responded to his gentle words with a small smile, brushing tears away from her eyes and making an effort to cheer up. She was upset now but he was sure that would pass, in time, and once they went to Hatfield and Anne could see for herself that their son was safe, happy and well cared for, she would know that she had no reason to worry about Arthur's welfare.

Everything would be fine and, although it pained Henry to have to part with his son, he also couldn't deny that he was also pleased that he had Anne to himself once more.

He didn't like sharing her, not even with their son.

* * *

**_1st June 1530_ **

Brandon had never thought that a time would come when he would find hunting or archery tedious but it had happened.

In the six days since little Prince Arthur had left the court for his own household, Henry had organized hunts almost every morning, with archery or games of bowls in the afternoon and lavish entertainments in the evenings. Brandon and several other favoured nobles, including Anne's brother, were included in the activities but Brandon was beginning to wish that he had either returned to his manor in Suffolk when Margaret did or that even that Henry had neglected to include him in the party, even though that would have been a mark of disfavour, one that would have half of the court whispering about whether the Duke of Suffolk was in disgrace.

Anything would be preferable to this.

During the days of their youth, he had loved nothing more than to ride out with his friend. While Henry's father was King and Henry was heir to the throne, the young Prince of Wales was kept under a tight rein by a father who had already lost one son and who was therefore doubly careful of his sole remaining heir, forbidding strenuous or dangerous activities for fear that an accident could rob him of his son and the fledgling Tudor dynasty of its future. However, once the old King had died, the new, young King had relished his newfound freedom and delighted in spending the whole day in the saddle, leaving the affairs of state in Wolsey's hands.

During the days of their youth, he had loved nothing more than to ride out with his friend. While Henry's father was King and Henry was heir to the throne, the young Prince of Wales was kept under a tight rein by a father who had already lost one son and who was therefore doubly careful of his sole remaining heir, forbidding strenuous or dangerous activities for fear that an accident could rob him of his son and the fledgling Tudor dynasty of its future. However, once the old King had died, the new, young King had relished his newfound freedom and delighted in spending the whole day in the saddle, leaving the affairs of state in Wolsey's hands.

In those days, Brandon was only too happy to join Henry on his expeditions, enjoying the feeling of being young, free and favoured by Fortune.

Now, however, it was different.

The current expeditions revolved entirely around Anne, with Henry determined to cheer her up and to distract her so that she did not pine for her child. If Anne seemed to be enjoying herself when they rode and hunted, Henry would keep them out for half of the day or more, even if the rest of the company grew weary and would have preferred to return to the palace. If Anne seemed to be bored or unhappy with the activities planned for her, Henry would stop them in a heartbeat and devise some other means of entertaining his wife, expecting their companions to go along with the change in activities without a murmur of protest and with every show of pleasure, never thinking to ask whether they might have preferred to do something else.

Today, after a couple of hours of riding in the morning, Henry had decided to devote the early afternoon to archery and he was patiently tutoring Anne in the use of the long bow, albeit a lighter one than he usually used, while Brandon and his other selected companions looked on, feeling rather bored.

Brandon could imagine that Cardinal Wolsey was well-pleased with this state of affairs.

Nobody who knew the cardinal well doubted the fact that he was more than a little dismayed by the way that Henry had been taking far more of an interest in affairs of state lately than had been his custom before. He took his duties as King more seriously now and was less willing to leave his tasks in Wolsey's eager hands while he amused himself with other pastimes. However, now that he had made cheering Anne up his personal mission, Henry's focus was on his wife and Wolsey could focus on the business of running the kingdom to his heart's content.

He wondered how the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Wiltshire – soon to be made a duke, now that he was the grandfather of a Prince – felt about the current state of affairs. Were they pleased to see how much Henry was devoting himself to Anne's happiness, especially when they must have been put out to see him treating Katherine cordially after the birth, or were they more dismayed to see that Wolsey was, once more, making himself indispensable to Henry?

Anne's family were determined to see to it that she was the favoured consort, the one with whom Henry spent his time and the one he honoured as his true wife and now as the mother of the heir to the throne but that had only been part of their goal when this whole affair began. They were also determined to bring down Wolsey and, now that Arthur's birth had further cemented Anne's place, and her family's, in Henry's good graces, Brandon doubted that it would be long now before they struck... and when they did, they would expect him to help them.

Wolsey had been kind to him before.

Brandon had not been fully aware of it at first but, shortly after Henry first welcomed him back to court, he learned through the court grapevine of the efforts that Wolsey made on his behalf when Compton brought Henry the news of the fact that his closest friend had married his sister without his approval. He had known when he asked Margaret to marry him that it could be seen as an act of treason for him to marry the King's sister without his consent, as to do so would deprive Henry of a valuable marriage pawn, but while he was prepared for Henry's anger to be terrible, he had not seriously considered that the full penalty for treason could be exacted against him. When he and Margaret were banished from the court, with Margaret commanded to relinquish her property, he thought that this was the worst case scenario.

He did not realize then that Henry had given serious thought to carrying out the threat he had made to Margaret – the threat that she had dismissed as an idle one, though it unsettled her when she first heard it – and ordered him executed, nor did he realize that, of all the people at court, Wolsey was the only one who had dared to speak a word in his favour to Henry, reminding him of their previous friendship and urging him to deal gently with Brandon for the sake of it, rather than punishing him to the extent that the law allowed him to.

Wolsey advocated mercy, Henry listened and Brandon's life was saved.

Had he known that when Thomas Boleyn came to him, offering him a return to court if he was willing to ally himself with him and with Norfolk and help them bring down Wolsey, would he have still agreed to the proposal or would he have refused to work against the cardinal who had done him such a service? Would he still have agreed if he knew just how grand Norfolk and Boleyn's ambitions were from the beginning, instead of them only revealing their intentions with regard to Anne after he had pledged his assistance to their cause, letting him know that they intended to see to it that she was placed on the throne, displacing Queen Katherine?

Brandon had gained a return to court from the arrangement and, although the other men had gained more, he knew that they would still consider him indebted to them and they would expect him to repay that debt once they called it in. If he refused to cooperate, it was likely that they would use Anne to see to it that he was banished from court in disgrace, knowing that Henry would send him away as soon as she asked him to, without even trying to coax her to reconsider her request, and this time, they would not help bring him back.

He should not have agreed to help them.

It had not taken Margaret long to reach that conclusion, once she realized that Boleyn and Norfolk did not just want him to drag Wolsey down but also to raise Anne. She was appalled by the thought that her husband might have helped to make it possible for Anne to be a royal bride instead of a mistress, as her sister was before her, something that was especially galling because it meant that protocol demanded that Margaret yield precedence to her and she also expressed outrage on Katherine's behalf, knowing that it would hurt her sister-in-law to have to share her husband with another woman and to see that woman's son supplant her daughter.

Brandon had not spared much thought to how Katherine must feel about this affair; he never thought much about her at all. Henry was the centre of the world for most of the courtiers, the sun around whom they all resolved, the King whose favour they courted, knowing that his good will could mean the difference between prosperity and penury, even life and death. Next to him, Katherine was a much quieter figure, never attracting attention the way Henry – and, to a degree, Anne – did.

But she had always been there, or at least it seemed that way.

Even when Brandon first came to court as a young boy, the Spanish princess who had been married to Prince Arthur for a few brief months before his death left her a young widow dependent on the tender mercies of her miserly father, was there, an unobtrusive presence at the edge of the court and of the royal family, never fully embraced by either as her position was so uncertain, with few believing that old King Henry had any intention of allowing her to marry his younger son and giving her a second chance to be England's Queen, no matter what promises he had made to that effect, especially when Katherine's father refused to pay the remaining portion of her dowry.

Brandon could remember how determined Henry was to marry Katherine when he first became King. He didn't have to do it. Katherine was already older than was customary for a bride, particularly a royal one, and with her mother dead, her value as a wife was diminished. Few would have blamed Henry if he had repudiated their betrothal, sending Katherine back to Spain, accompanied by what little remained of the dowry she brought as Arthur's bride, and looked elsewhere for a wife. He could have taken his pick of the eligible princesses in Europe, whose fathers would have been pleased to see their daughter as England's new Queen.

But he had insisted that he would keep his word and marry Katherine. He _wanted_ to marry Katherine and turned a deaf ear to anybody who attempted to dissuade him.

Now Henry had a new wife, one to whom he seemed utterly devoted, and his feelings towards Katherine had soured to the point where he would gladly have seized any opportunity to dissolve his marriage to her, stripping her of her title of Queen, the title she had held for so long and turning his back on their union as though it counted for less than nothing.

Brandon would have had to have a heart of stone not to feel pity for Katherine but he had committed himself to help Boleyn and Norfolk and that was a commitment he could not lightly escape, not if he wished to remain at court, and his family's future depended heavily on him continuing to enjoy Henry's favour... and for that, he could not afford Anne's enmity.

So when his thoughts were interrupted by Henry lavishing praise on Anne for her shot, letting him know that she had finally managed to shoot an arrow in the general direction of the target, Brandon joined in the applause, speaking a few words of congratulations and knowing that he could not be the only one who failed to do so.

Anne had Henry wrapped around her little finger and, as long as that remained the case, any courtier with sense would cultivate her favour, just as they cultivated Henry's... even if they did rue the day that she became his wife.

* * *

Since the day that Master Cranmer had first arrived at court to act as her chaplain, Anne had spoken favourably of the man to Henry on several occasions, mentioning that he was a very intelligent man and praising his gentleness and good sense. Henry had not paid much attention to Cranmer before today, although he had made a point of receiving him for a brief audience and welcoming him to court, to please Anne, so he could imagine that it had come as a surprise to Cranmer when he received an invitation from his sovereign, asking him to attend a quiet supper this evening in the King's quarters.

Anne was still quiet and somewhat subdued after parting with Arthur so Henry had avoided dining in the Great Hall before the eyes of the court, thinking that it would be better if he and Anne either ate their meals by themselves or else in the company of a select number of their closest, most trusted circle of friends, people whose lively conversation might cheer her up but who would not whisper about her if she was subdued at dinner. When he suggested that, in addition to Knivert, Brandon and Anne's father and brother, they could invite Master Cranmer to join them for supper tonight, Anne had agreed enthusiastically, suggesting that Cromwell could be invited as well and noting that he was a friend of her family's as well as being a very able and intelligent man.

Henry agreed, sending a page to bring an invitation to Cromwell to join them, caring little about whether or not it was fitting for him to invite his secretary to dine with him like that.

He would have invited one of the spit boys from the kitchens, one of the humblest chamber servants in the palace or one of the boys who mucked out the stables to supper if he thought that it would please Anne to have their company and, in any case, if he had had any concerns about how his secretary would conduct himself while dining with the King and his chosen circle, those doubts were quickly put to rest.

Cromwell was an engaging companion, chiming in with conversations readily enough but without pushing himself forward in a manner that might give offence to his betters. He was also very considerate of the nervous Master Cranmer, discreetly drawing him into conversation rather than allowing the chaplain's shyness to lead him to pass the meal in silence, not daring to speak a word unless he was asked a direct question.

"Your Majesty might be interested to hear Master Cranmer's thoughts on Your Majesty's Great Matter," Cromwell observed in a calm, measured tone, not seeming to notice that the other conversation stilled at his words, with most of those who sat with him at the table looking worriedly at Henry, wondering how he would react to Cromwell's choice of topic.

By common consent, the topic of the King's Great Matter was avoided at court these days. Things had settled down since Henry had accepted the pope's offer of a compromise and married Anne while he was still joined in matrimony to Katherine, at least in name, and nobody would have wanted or dared to be the one who broke the unspoken rule against mentioning Henry's fight for an annulment, reminding him that it was a fight he had lost. He was not a man who liked to dwell on his defeats.

Knivert came perilously close to choking on his wine and Brandon kept his gaze fixed on Henry, wondering how he would react to this and feeling concerned about the fact that the issue had been raised. They had settled into an uneasy peace since Henry had taken Anne as his second wife and Brandon was wary of anything that might upset the apple cart and perhaps even ignite the issue once more. This affair had already caused enough difficulty and pain without it doing more damage. Even the two Boleyn men looked slightly ill at ease, though Anne took it more calmly.

For his part, Cranmer looked as though he would have dearly loved to be anywhere else but sitting at this table before his sovereign, whose attention was now directed squarely at him.

"What are your thoughts, Master Cranmer?" Henry asked calmly, well able to guess that the other man felt nervous and wanting to hear what it was he had to say. When Cranmer tried to avoid the question, insisting that it was nothing, just a few meaningless observations he had made, Henry pressed the issue, more firmly this time. "I command you to tell me."

Poor Cranmer was too nervous to speak so Cromwell stepped in on his behalf, explaining the matter to Henry in his usual calm manner. He might have been discussing the weather or some similarly innocuous topic, not the issue over which the King was prepared to set himself against Queen Katherine, the Holy Roman Emperor and even the pope himself if it was necessary in order to achieve his desire before he was finally prevailed upon to accept half measures.

"Master Cranmer made the observation that, in his view, Your Majesty's Great Matter was never a legal issue." Cromwell explained, his outwardly calm demeanour belying his inner excitement and pleasure at finally having the opportunity to bring up this issue. If he had judged the King rightly, then his words would be very welcome to him and could well prove to be the first step towards guiding the King away from the corruption of the Church of Rome and leading him instead to form a true, uncorrupted Church of England, one governed by the King instead of by a foreign pope. "Kings, as we all know, are set above the law and answerable to God alone, who anointed them. Master Cranmer argued – and I agree with him – that the issue was never a legal one, it was and always has been a theological one."

Henry pondered his words for a few moments before turning his attention to the nervous Cranmer. "And how did you think the issue should be decided, if it was not to be decided in law?" He asked, albeit gently, not wanting to frighten the man. Master Cranmer was the first person who had ever framed the issue in such a way and Henry was curious about his proposal, wanting to learn more about it. It was true that, as King, he was anointed by God, chosen by Him to rule over England. The books Anne had given him made persuasive arguments for why the Church should be governed by the King rather than by a pope, arguments that definitely appealed to Henry.

If he was answerable to God alone, then did the pope have the authority to refuse him when he petitioned him for an annulment of his marriage? If, as King, he was answerable only to God, then what else could have put the thought of annulling his marriage into his head except a direct message from God, letting him know that He was displeased with their union and that He wanted Henry to dissolve it so that he could make a true union with Anne?

But for Anne's encouraging smile, it is unlikely that Cranmer would have had the courage to say his piece. Like everybody else, he was very aware of the fact that if he offended Henry, he could pay a heavy price for doing so. However, if Anne thought that it was safe for him to say his piece and that he would not draw the King's wrath on his head by doing so, he trusted her judgement.

"I believe that Your Majesty should have canvassed the universities for their opinion on the case," Cranmer explained, his shyness gradually melting away as he expanded on his theme. "They would have been able to examine the case, and without feeling under pressure to appease the Emperor for political reasons, as the pope was, and would have been able to return a verdict in short order – a verdict that I believe would have been overwhelmingly in Your Majesty's favour, as justice demanded of them... if you chose to pursue such a course of action, I mean," he trailed off, hoping that he had not gone too far and caused offence, or that Henry might think that he was criticizing him for not persevering in his efforts to obtain his annulment. "I know that Your Majesty acted only for the best."

"I'm not so certain, Master Cranmer." Henry contradicted him quietly, using his knife to push a piece of meat around his plate as he mulled over the other man's words.

The way Cranmer spoke, it all sounded so simple.

In a few sentences, he had proposed a solution to the dilemma that Henry had wrestled with before he ever broached the matter with Wolsey, let alone appealed to the pope, and his explanation for how the universities could have been canvassed made a great deal of sense... so much so that Henry resented the fact that he had not heard of this before now, when he had already consented to the pope's compromise and it was too late.

The universities in England would have found for him, he knew that, and it was likely that the same was true of the French universities, as they would be only too glad to strike a blow against Spain, their ancient enemy, by annulling the marriage of one of her princesses. Germany and even Italy were likely to have declared for him and, while it was safe to say that the Spanish universities would have pledged their support to Katherine, too afraid of her nephew to dare to speak the truth, Henry was confident that he would still have won by a comfortable majority.

And then he would be free.

He wouldn't be dealing with this absurd situation, where his wife, the woman who should have been his Queen, was denied that title so that his sister-in-law, his brother's widow might carry it and instead had to consent herself with the title of Princess Consort as long as Katherine lived, when his son and heir could not stay at court with his parents because he had to have his own establishment as soon as possible in order to make it clear to everybody that, regardless of the fact that his mother was one of two wives, he was a legitimate prince and the rightful heir to the throne and when his own subjects were tittering in secret over the fact that their King had two wives.

Instead, he would be married to Anne and only to Anne. It would be clear to everybody in England and in all of Christendom that she was the true, rightful Queen of England and that Arthur was the Prince of Wales and the sole heir to the throne, with his younger brothers, and perhaps even a sister or two following him. Katherine would revert to her title of Princess Dowager of Wales and he would provide for her amply – despite her stubborn insistence on denying him justice, he would not have punished her by leaving her in penury, he would have continued to support her in the manner her station demanded – and, although he would have ensured that Mary was properly provided for, as a King's daughter ought to be, he would be able to make it clear to everybody that she was a bastard, instead of having to pretend that his illegitimate daughter was a princess by rights.

How had Cranmer, an obscure cleric, one whose name Henry would never have heard if not for his previous connection to the Boleyn family, hit on a solution so easily when all of Wolsey's shrewdness and diplomacy had only been able to achieve the half measures that Henry had reluctantly accepted... or had Wolsey truly done all he could in order to win Henry his annulment?

A man of Wolsey's intelligence should have been able to think of Cranmer's idea long before it got to the point where his royal master was left with a choice between asking the woman he loved to accept the indignity of being his second wife rather than his Queen in order that they could be together, or else fighting what would surely have been a losing battle in order to annul his accursed union with Katherine.

Wolsey should have been able to think of it... so why hadn't he?

Was it an oversight on his part, or had he thought of the idea and neglected to mention it?

Had he been too afraid to offend the pope to let Henry know about a possible solution to his dilemma, one that would have spared him and Anne a great deal of trouble and pain?

Was there a way in which Wolsey could have helped him, but he chose not to?

God help Wolsey if Henry found out that this was the case!


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**_15th June 1530_ **

Henry had apologized over and over for the fact that he had had to cancel the picnic they had planned for this morning but the envoy from the French court had arrived before he was expected, and he had not liked the idea of leaving it to Wolsey to deal with, though Anne suspected that the cardinal would have been quite pleased for it to be left in his charge, as it would have been before. She had assured him that she would be fine, and that she would see him later, when the business of the morning was over.

She wasn't a child, she didn't need him to hold her hand all day long.

She could cope by herself for a few hours.

Her ladies were almost nervous around her, even her sister, sneaking glances at her every few minutes as she worked at her embroidery, stitching a design of Tudor roses and her falcon on a tiny silk gown intended for Arthur, representing both sides of his family and his heritage, Tudor and Boleyn. It was as though they were afraid that she might break down and weep at a moment's notice if they took their eyes from her.

It was irritating.

She was upset about Arthur being taken away from her, she did not deny that, but that didn't mean that she needed to be constantly coddled and watched.

Fed up with the scrutiny of her attendants, she set her embroidery aside and rose abruptly, motioning for all of her ladies, with the exception of Nan Saville, to remain where they were and she stalked out of her apartment, with Nan scurrying behind her. She wasn't sure where she wanted to go, if she wanted to go outside to walk in the gardens or if she wanted to find her father or her brother and speak to them, or if she wanted to go down to Henry's presence chamber to greet the French ambassador.

She was striding down the corridors, past the doors leading into Henry's quarters, when she practically collided with one of the pages.

Horrified to have bumped into the Princess Consort, the young man hurriedly bowed. "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, I wasn't watching where I was going and..."

Anne wasn't interested in his apology – if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that the fault was hers, not his – but her attention was caught by the burden in his arms; a pile of neatly folded shirts. She reached out, fingering the snow-white linen with one hand, able to tell at once that the cloth was of the finest quality. "Where are you taking these shirts?"

"To the King's Majesty's apartment, Your Majesty." The page explained, bowing low a second time.

"Where did you get them?" In her heart, Anne knew the answer to that question already but she still asked, needing to hear his response. "Where did you get them?" She repeated her question more loudly when he hesitated before responding, her tone making it plain that she had no intention of allowing him to pass until he answered her. "Tell me!"

"From the Queen, Your Majesty." The page answered. He could tell at a glance that his response did not please her but he had little alternative but to tell her the truth. A lie would be quickly discovered and swiftly punished, and he would have had to answer to the King for his rudeness if he refused to answer the Princess Consort when she asked him a direct question. "She has made these shirts for His Majesty... as she has always done." He added, when the silence became so uncomfortable that he needed to say something, anything to fill it.

It was known throughout the court that Queen Katherine had insisted on sewing and embroidering the King's shirts with her own hands since the day they were married, all those years ago. It was a task that she would never have consented to allow another woman to perform in her place, deeming it her duty as a wife to tend to her husband's personal attire, even if she was the Queen.

Surely it could not have come as a shock to the Princess Consort to learn that this was the case!

"She still makes his shirts?" Anne felt numb.

"Yes, Your Majesty." The unfortunate page confirmed, wishing with all his heart that Queen Katherine had charged somebody else with the task of conveying the newly sewn shirts from her apartment to the King's rooms, and that somebody else had had to answer the Princess Consort's questions when she learned of the errand.

Etiquette forbade him to stir until Anne had given him leave, even though the Queen had commanded that he was to deliver the shirts into the hands of the chief groom of the King's privy chamber as soon as possible. He could not even be the one to ask whether he might go back to his errand, something that was certain to be interpreted as rudeness on his part and which could lead to his dismissal from royal service, if not worse, should she report the matter to the King.

After a silence stretching for several minutes, Anne finally broke the impasse, reaching out to snatch the neatly folded bundle of shirts from his arms. "Give them to me!" She clutched the bundle to her chest, neither noticing nor caring if she creased the fine linen. "Now go!" She snapped at the astonished page, who was all too pleased to be able to escape so lightly.

"Your Majesty..." Nan began to speak in a soothing tone, wishing that she knew how best to comfort her mistress, or even if comforting her was the right thing to do in such an event.

Anne silenced her with a frown. "You may rejoin the other ladies, Mistress Saville." She told her in a cool tone, using the other woman's formal title instead of her informal name, as was usually her custom with her favourite ladies, at least when they were alone.

"If that is Your Majesty's command..." Nan began doubtfully. Anne was usually attended by at least one of her ladies at all times but if she wished to be alone, how could Nan disobey her order?

"It is." Anne insisted firmly. Without another word, she strode into Henry's apartments, dismissing the grooms who were busily setting the room to rights with a sharply worded command and sitting down in a chair by the window, the shirts in her lap, waiting.

Why did Henry still allow Katherine to make his shirts?

He had told her when he first came to Hever, after receiving word of the pope's agreement that they might marry bigamously and deciding that he would not be able to continue to press for an annulment, that he would not allow the fact that Katherine was still his wife in name to affect their lives in any way. He vowed to her that he would view her as his only wife, while to his eyes, Katherine would be nothing more than his sister-in-law, and that he would treat them accordingly.

Was it his sister-in-law's task to sew his shirts for him?

Why would he allow Katherine to continue to undertake such an intimate task for him if, as he claimed, he did not regard her as his wife? He had never even hinted to Anne that he would like it if she sewed his shirts for him, or she would gladly have done so – and likely made a better job of it than Katherine did! The woman was at least twenty years Anne's senior, after all, and it was rumoured that she was beginning to suffer from arthritis and that her eyesight was starting to fail her. Anne suffered no such defects so why hadn't Henry entrusted the task of sewing his shirts to her, if the task must be performed by a woman of royal status instead of by one of the countless seamstresses who would have been pleased to have the job and the income?

If he did not view Katherine as his wife, then she had no place undertaking any domestic tasks for him, no matter how minor those tasks were.

Did everybody at court know about this?

Why hadn't her father mentioned this before? God knew he told her about just about everything else about Katherine that he considered to be a potential threat, not caring if she wanted to hear or if she would rather he left the words unsaid. He had a knack for learning about everything that went on at court so he must have heard about this. Why wouldn't he warn her of it?

Were the courtiers laughing at her behind her back, jeering over the fact that while the Princess Consort could share the King's bed and bear him sons and provide him with a beautiful companion to appear on his arm, the Queen's hand was the only one he wanted sewing his shirts? Did they see this as proof that, regardless of Henry's protests to the contrary, in his heart he viewed Katherine as his true, rightful wife while she was a plaything, a trophy or at best his vessel for the male heirs he desperately wanted?

Since the day Henry promised her marriage, Anne had not felt insecure about her position in his heart, reasoning that if he did not truly care for her, he would surely not be prepared to go to such extraordinary lengths to make her his Queen when it would have been a relatively simple matter for him to find another willing lady, or a string of them, to share his bed if she would not do so. She felt so confident in his love for her, feeling that no man, certainly not one in Henry's position, would pit himself against pope and Emperor alike in order to offer a lady an honest marriage unless he truly loved her, with such a passion that he could not live without her and with such tenderness that he was prepared to do whatever it took in order that they might be together on her terms, honourably, instead of trying to pressure her to enter an illicit union.

Today, she felt insecure.

Today, she wondered whether Henry meant it when he told her he loved her more than he had ever loved any other, or whether, but for Arthur, he would wish to take back their marriage, to make her his mistress instead of his wife or else to forget all about her so that he and Katherine could resume the domestic routine they had enjoyed before.

She was very tempted to throw the shirts out the window, to leave them to fall where they might, or else to hand them to her chamberlain with strict orders that they were to be distributed to the first poor beggars he found in the streets of London, commanding him to find the sickliest, filthiest and most odorous recipients possible. Had a fire been lit in Henry's apartment, she might have thrown the shirts on it and stoked the flames, burning away the evidence of Katherine's place in _her_ husband's life and in his heart... but another part of her didn't want to destroy the shirts, not because she was worried about the possibility that Henry might be angry with her for doing so but because she could tell at a glance that a great deal of love and care had gone into each garment.

The cloth was pristine, without so much as a finger-mark marring its snowy surface, and the collar and cuffs were embellished with intricate black work embroidery in the Spanish style. Adept with a needle herself, Anne could imagine the hours of work that must have gone into crafting these garments and she couldn't understand why Katherine would choose to spend so much time on them. It was not as if she _needed_ to do the job; seamstresses could be hired to undertake the task for a few shillings, and it was not as if Henry would be able to tell the difference between a shirt sewn by Katherine and one sewn by a woman engaged for the task. Surely he wouldn't care so much about something like his shirts that he would complain if Katherine ceased to make them.

What difference did it make to Katherine who sewed Henry's shirts?

Was this her way of highlighting the fact that, thanks to her nephew's intercession on her behalf, her position as Henry's wife and as Queen of England was safe, at least officially? Was this her way of reminding herself, and others, that in her eyes, she was and always would be Henry's true wife while Anne was a concubine in all but name, even if her union with Henry was technically lawful?

Was this Katherine's secret triumph over her? Was this how she consoled herself for the knowledge that Henry shared Anne's bed and spent his time with her? When she stitched at these shirts, did she remind herself that, whatever Henry or anybody else said, they couldn't force her to acknowledge that she was not truly his wife? That nothing they said or did would ever force her to acknowledge that?

Later, when Anne questioned Nan Saville, she learned from her lady-in-waiting that she had been sitting in Henry's apartment for the best part of an hour, alone save for her thoughts, before her husband returned to his rooms and was astonished to find her there, especially unattended.

He was even more astonished when she flung the shirts in his face, without a word of warning.

"How could you do it? How could you let her?" She demanded angrily, biting her lower lip to keep from crying. If she cried, he'd soothe her with caresses and soft words and she wanted to be angry with him, to let him know just how much this hurt her.

"Sweetheart, what is this? What's the matter?" Henry was all concern. The shirts were left to fall and trodden underfoot as he hastened to her side, his arms already outstretched to tug her into his embrace and to console her about whatever it was that distressed her. "Did something happen to make you unhappy? Has somebody upset you? Tell me!"

"You did!" Anne exclaimed accusingly.

"What did I do, sweetheart?" Henry was genuinely puzzled, wondering what it was that could have distressed Anne so much since they parted company at breakfast. "If I'd known that you didn't want me to leave this morning, I would have had Wolsey deal with the envoy..." He began, though he couldn't imagine why Anne would express her anger over his absence for a couple of hours by flinging a pile of clothes in his face, of all things, or who the "her" she referred to was and what he was supposed to be letting her do.

He felt as though he was suddenly taking part in a masque, but without having rehearsed his lines or his dance steps in advance and without even knowing what the theme of the masque was.

He had no idea what was happening and that was unsettling, to say the least.

"She still makes your shirts, how could you let her?" Anne asked, sounding wounded. "You said that there was nothing intimate between you any more!"

"Intimate? What are you talking about, my darling? They're just shirts." He pointed out gently. Dr Linacre had assured him that Anne had recovered well from Arthur's birth, without any lingering ill effects from her labour but Henry wondered if the physician, skilled and able as he was, had missed some imbalance in her body's delicate humours after childbirth that might be affecting her judgement now, or if her unhappiness over parting with Arthur was contributing to her distress over the shirts. "I thought you knew about it already, everybody at court does. If I'd known that it would upset you, I would have stopped it right away, sweetheart, you have to believe me." He added hastily, not wanting Anne to think that he was criticizing her if she had been unaware of the fact that Katherine still sewed his shirts before today. He also didn't want her to think that he had deliberately tried to keep it a secret from her. "I didn't even think about it before now."

It was the truth.

Katherine had always sewn his shirts, since they first married, even when he insisted that she didn't need to do it, that he had money enough to order thousands upon thousands of shirts sewn for him by the most skilled seamstresses and tailors in England.

Not even his mother, who had been the humblest, gentlest and most obedient wife that any man could ever have hoped for, had sewn his father's shirts. Henry suspected that even if she had offered to undertake the task, his father would have refused, though he was a miserly man in other respects, always ready to shave a few shillings or even pennies from the expenses of the royal household, thinking that it was not fitting for his Queen to turn herself into a seamstress, even for her King. He was always very conscious of the dignity due to royal status, particularly as he had not been born a prince and had had to fight for his crown. Katherine was adamant, however, and in those days, Henry had not had the heart to refuse her anything.

He was touched by her care for him, and by her earnest efforts to please him in every way, even where simple domestic matters like his shirts were concerned. She was so grateful that he had married her, when she must have known that there were many who sought to discourage him from doing so, that she wished to be the perfect wife for him, in every way.

It had never entered his head to put a stop to it when he first went to her to let her know that he considered their marriage to be null and void and to inform her that they should part, or even when he married Anne, his _true_ wife. That part of their routine remained unchanged; Katherine saw to the ordering of the linen and other necessary materials, and to the stitching and embroidery of the shirts, sending him the finished garments when they were ready, and he wrote her a short note of thanks when he received them, sending a servant to her apartment with it.

He had thought nothing of it, and had certainly never expected that it could upset Anne.

He hugged his wife close to him, rocking her back and forth and kissing the top of her head, murmuring soothing promises that he would set this right.

"Don't cry, darling, please don't cry." He pleaded with her, sounding close to tears himself at the sight of her distress and feeling guilty for having caused such unhappiness to the woman who had already given him so much. "I am going to bring back these shirts right now and tell Lady Katherine that I don't want her sewing them for me any more, I promise. I'll have my chamberlain engage a seamstress to sew new shirts for me, and I'll burn the ones I have now and never wear anything she sews for me again, I swear to you I will, just please don't cry!"

Once Anne had calmed down a little, she was inclined to feel embarrassed about making such a fuss over something a simple as a few shirts, especially when Henry was holding her in his arms and comforting her so tenderly, never even thinking that he should point out that it was unreasonable of her to object to this.

What did it matter to her if Katherine made his shirts? She could sew them until her fingers bled and it would make no difference to Anne, one way or another. How could she ever have even contemplated doubting the strength of Henry's love for her? It was there in the warmth of his embrace, in the gentleness of his fingers as they caressed her and in the tenderness of his voice as he apologized for his oversight, vowing that he would set the matter to rights.

She had no reason to worry on that count.

She should probably have told him that there was no need for him to worry about her.

She should probably have said that it made no difference to her if Katherine sewed his shirts or if the task was left in the hands of another woman.

She should probably have apologized for her outburst and assured Henry that she knew that he would never wilfully hurt her.

But the words died on her tongue as he held her close, promising that she would never again have cause to worry that even the flimsiest of domestic threads still bound him to Katherine, he would sever every one of them rather than risk causing her a moment's distress. Instead, she relaxed in Henry's embrace, smiling up at him and kissing his cheek in response to his vow.

"I mean it, sweetheart." Henry insisted, giving her one final kiss before gently releasing her. He bent down to gather the shirts, now crumpled and slightly dusty in places – he would have to have words with the chamberlain about seeing to it that his floors were cleaned properly – in his arms. "I'm going to talk to Katherine about it right now."

Henry could imagine that those who saw him striding through the corridors must have considered it an odd sight to see the King of England marching around with a bundle of shirts tucked under his arm but none of them would have dared to question him about what was going on and he did not greet anybody as he made his way from his apartment to Katherine's, determination etched on his face. He didn't wait to be announced, or even for the door to be opened for him before he pushed it open himself and entered.

"Katherine!" He called her name.

She was surprised to see him, though she did a masterful job of concealing it, rising to greet him with a smile and a curtsey. He didn't see her signal her ladies or hear her whisper a command but the women melted away, leaving them alone. Had they been given orders to do this in advance, in case he ever visited? "Henry, I am so pleased to see you..." Katherine began before noticing the shirts in his arms and recognizing them as the ones she had dispatched to his apartment scarcely an hour ago. "Don't they fit properly?" She asked tentatively, unable to think of another reason why he would be returning them. "I can alter them if they don't."

Henry didn't look any different to her eyes but perhaps he had put on a bit of weight that made the shirts too tight around the collar. He certainly dined well these days.

He didn't answer her question, instead he placed the shirts on the table, taking a hasty step back from them, as though he didn't want to get too close. His behaviour was bewildering but before Katherine could ask him what was going on, he explained the purpose of his visit.

"Katherine, you're going to have to stop making my shirts."

Of all the things he might have said, she had not expected that. "But I thought you liked the shirts I made for you," she said, puzzled, reaching out to touch the cuff of his shirt, just visible under the sleeve of his doublet, recognizing her own embroidery. "I see you are wearing one."

He pulled away from her as though the touch of her fingers burned him, and he tugged at the collar of the shirt, as though it had suddenly become too tight and uncomfortable now that she had reminded him that she was the one who had sewn it for him. "You're going to have to stop making my shirts." He repeated, frowning at her. "It's not appropriate – you're not my wife and we both know it. You shouldn't be making my shirts. It's not your job."

There were many things that she wanted to say to him.

She wanted to tell him that she was his wife, that she had been his wife for many years and that she would never cease to be his wife, no matter how often people like Wolsey and Anne's relatives tried to convince him that their marriage was unlawful. She wanted to tell him that she did not view sewing his shirts as a job, it was something that she was happy to do for him, because she loved him but she knew Henry well enough to know that he would turn a deaf ear to her words... just as she knew him well enough to know that there was more to his insistence that he no longer wished for her to make his shirts than met the eye.

Henry had not objected before. He had not indicated that he no longer wished for her to sew his shirts when he first told her that he planned to annul their marriage, and he had been married to Anne now for over a year without thinking to tell her that he didn't want the shirts she made for him any more.

Why would he?

Henry wasn't a man who gave much thought to where his shirts came from. He sent her a note of thanks when she sent him his shirts, yes, but beyond that, Katherine doubted that he concerned himself much with such a minor matter. He wasn't the one who would worry about this.

"When did Anne decide that she objected to you wearing the shirts I make?" She asked coolly, breaking her unspoken rule to refer to her rival by her title. The expression of discomfort on Henry's face was all the answer she needed. "Just now, am I right? And if she had not objected, you would not think that there was anything wrong with wearing the shirts I make for you."

"What does it matter when she learned about it?" Henry countered sharply, taking umbrage at the thought that Katherine might be criticizing Anne for complaining, or him for how he had responded to her complaint. "If it upsets her, I'll put a stop to it – I should have thought about how it would make her feel beforehand, and ended it then, but now that I know that it makes her unhappy, it won't continue."

Had Katherine not possessed such self-control, she might have snorted in derision.

Couldn't Henry see that he was certainly doing Anne no favours by indulging her the way he did, yielding to her every whim, no matter how absurd it was? Excessive indulgence would ruin any character. It would be far kinder, in the long run, if he said 'no' to her when her demands were unreasonable, as they were now. Why couldn't Henry have just said that he liked the shirts Katherine made for him, that he had every intention of continuing to wear the shirts and that there was no reason for Anne to feel jealous or in any way unhappy about it? Why did he think that he needed to pamper Anne when she complained about things like this instead of being firm?

It was just shirts this time but what other imagined slights would Anne decide to complain about in the future, and how would Henry strive to placate her when she did?

What would he do if Anne bore a daughter and found the idea of Mary taking precedence ahead of that daughter, as would be her right as the eldest princess, unbearable? Would he seek to find a way to downgrade Mary, ensuring that even though she was older, she would have to yield precedence to Anne's daughter, something that would hurt and shame Mary?

What would he do if Anne decided that she was no longer satisfied with the title of Princess Consort and wanted to become Queen immediately instead of waiting until the title was vacated with Katherine's death? Might Henry be prepared to reopen the issue of the annulment in order to dissolve their union so Anne could be Queen, finding a way to set Katherine aside, even if satisfying Anne's desire would mean that Mary would be proclaimed a bastard?

Katherine didn't want to believe that the husband she loved was capable of such a thing but she couldn't dismiss the possibility either. Henry had already taken a great deal from her and even from their precious daughter for Anne's sake, and she could not pretend that it was impossible for him to try to take more from them if he thought that it would please Anne.

His devotion to her was so powerful that he would do virtually anything to please her.

He was glaring at her now, clearly angry with her for what she had said about Anne and combing his mind for a suitable response to her words, a reminder of the fact that he did not consider her to be his wife and that she should count herself fortunate to still be permitted to call herself that, and a way of making it plain to her that she would not be allowed to breathe so much as a word against Anne without redress.

"I intend to go on progress at the end of the month," he announced, apropos of nothing. Katherine knew that there had to be more to it than that, as the court went on progress almost every summer, unless the Queen – or, in this case, the Princess Consort – was carrying a child and could not travel, so she remained silent, waiting for him to get to the point. "I intend to stop at Hatfield for a week, perhaps more, and I will be taking Anne with me. It is my wish that you will remain here, with your ladies." He informed her sharply, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room, allowing her no chance to respond.

Katherine could not keep the dismay from her face at Henry's pronouncement, unable to fully believe that he would take such a step. For the Queen of England to be excluded from the progress, left behind at Whitehall with her own household and whichever courtiers were not favoured with an invitation to join the royal progress and who did not have manors of their own where they could retreat for the summer months, was unthinkable, a sign not only to the court but to the country that she was in disgrace and disfavour, and that Henry wanted to present himself and Anne as the royal couple, as though Katherine did not exist.

Worse still was the fact that, by excluding her, he was depriving her of the opportunity to stay with Mary at Hatfield when he visited her there. She would see little of her child over the summer, unless Henry was prepared to allow Mary to come to Whitehall to stay with her.

How could her husband be so cruel?

Was there any limit to the pain he was willing to cause her?

Katherine wasn't certain that she wanted to know the answer.

* * *

**_14th June 1530_ **

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." Henry said apologetically, finishing his breakfast quickly and washing it down with a mug of ale. "I was hoping that we would be able to travel to Hatfield to see the Prince today but there's so much to do today, I won't be able to get away." He felt guilty when he saw the disappointment on Anne's face. He knew how much she wanted to see their son; she had been counting the days until their planned visit, and even preparing a list of the questions she wanted to ask Lady Bryan, to ensure that she did not forget a single detail, not even a minor one. Although he intended to bring her on progress to Hatfield at the end of the month, it wasn't fair to expect Anne to wait over two weeks longer before she could see Arthur. Although he had not originally intended to, he made another suggestion. "Why don't you have your sister or one of your ladies go with you to keep you company?"

"That's a good idea." Anne said, smiling when he kissed her goodbye.

When she told Mary, her sister was happy to agree to the idea of the trip, and to the idea of visiting her nephew and godson. She sent a message to Anne's chamberlain to make arrangements for a carriage and an escort for their journey while Anne finished getting ready.

When they reached the courtyard, about half an hour later, Anne was taken aback when she saw who else was waiting there.

"I don't believe this." Mary muttered under her breath, glancing at Anne to see how she was reacting to this before she curtsied. "Your Majesty."

Katherine nodded a greeting, looking as surprised to see them as they were to see her, but she was calm when she addressed Anne. "Are you going to Hatfield too?" She asked. As she and Anne enjoyed equal status, they could only address one another by either their Christian names or else by their formal titles but neither seemed appropriate at the moment.

"Yes." Anne responded, feeling uncomfortable in the other woman's presence. She couldn't believe that, the very day she and Henry had planned a visit to Hatfield, Katherine also intended to travel there. They had managed to avoid one another almost all of the time since the wedding but she supposed that it was inevitable that they would eventually have to start to interact more. Not only were she, Henry and Katherine living under the same roof, their children were sharing a household as well. Under those circumstances, they couldn't avoid one another forever.

Katherine didn't say anything else but, when the page she had sent to the stables returned to let her know that a carriage was prepared for her, she saw the discomfort on his face when he saw that Anne was there. Because she and Anne were so rarely together, the impact of Henry's dictate regarding equal precedence was minimized but, on the occasions when they were both present, it caused a dilemma for courtiers and servants alike, as none of them knew for certain which woman they ought to greet first, or anything like that. Even if their instinct was to acknowledge Katherine first, as she still held the title of Queen, they were all aware that Henry would prefer for them to honour Anne instead, which left them torn, unable to know what they ought to do.

The coachmen would probably have no idea which carriage should precede the other.

"There's no sense in having two carriages, if we are both going to Hatfield." She said briskly, feeling a little amused when she saw the astonished expression on Anne's face. She could imagine how astounded the other woman must be by her suggestion, unable to believe that Katherine would ever contemplate suggesting that they should spend a moment longer in one another's company than was absolutely necessary but, if Katherine had doubted the wisdom of her suggestion, Anne's reaction confirmed to her that it was the right thing to do.

She would be the last person to deny that their situation was an absurd one.

If Katherine had had her way, Henry would never have contemplated questioning the validity of her marriage, much less try to dissolve it so that he might remarry, necessitating the compromise that the pope had allowed but, whether she wanted it or not, it had happened and she couldn't change it. She and Anne shared a husband, and their children were half-brother and half-sister. Henry would never even contemplate the idea of setting Anne aside – he was far more likely to try to end his marriage to Katherine – so, sooner or later, they would have learn to get along. It was the only hope they had of easing the situation for themselves, and for others.

They weren't children, they should be able to share the same carriage for a few hours.

Anne hesitated for a long moment, looking as though she was trying to decide whether or not Katherine was serious but she finally nodded.

* * *

Aware that Henry was in a foul mood, Wolsey did his best to be as helpful as he possibly could while, at the same time, being careful that he did nothing that might make Henry feel that he was trying to usurp his tasks as monarch or that he did not think him capable of managing alone.

He was obliged to be very careful these days.

Two years ago, Wolsey would have been the one poring over the details of their new alliance with the French ambassador, carefully weighing the advantages and disadvantages, both for himself and for England and, when he settled on the best course of action, making his recommendation to Henry, a recommendation that would almost invariably be accepted, with the King trusting him enough not to suspect that he had any other motive but to serve him to the best of his ability.

These days, Henry's preference was to see to these things for himself and, not only was he not as willing to delegate vital tasks as he was before, when he _did_ delegate them, he often delegated them to men other than Wolsey, usually Anne's father or uncle. These days, Wolsey could never be sure of himself around the man to whom he had once been a close friend and trusted advisor.

Where he once had the freedom to speak his mind, at least as much as any courtier could ever hope to around their sovereign, he now had to carefully guard his tongue. Where his was once the hand guiding domestic and foreign policy for England, he often found himself cut out of decisions altogether, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that men like Anne's father and uncle were all too willing to influence Henry into thinking badly of him.

They had an advantage over Wolsey that was not easily overcome; because they were Anne's kin, Henry would honour them and listen to them in the hopes of pleasing her and, if they so chose, they could prevail upon Anne to make suggestions about whether or not Wolsey could be trusted.

Wolsey could scarcely believe that the 'silly girl' he had encountered a couple of years ago was now in a position where he, who was once the most powerful man in England after the King, had to spend his time worrying about whether or not she would whisper poison in Henry's ears about him, destroying everything he had worked for and robbing him of the King's love and trust with a few spiteful words, but it had happened.

Anne hadn't just won Henry away from Katherine, she had won him away from Wolsey too.

"I have drawn up the patent for the Earl of Wiltshire's elevation, Your Majesty." He said, frowning at both the thought of being the one charged with a task that any clerk could do, instead of a task befitting his intelligence and experience and at the thought that Thomas Boleyn, who had already been made an earl as the father of the girl the King intended to marry, was now to be made a duke for no other reason than that his daughter had managed to bear a living son. Wolsey could understand why Henry was showering Anne with gifts, and why he rewarded the ladies who had tended to her during her confinement, but he didn't think that her father deserved to be rewarded so greatly, especially when the lives of infants were so fragile.

Of every ten infants born, three of them did not live to see their first birthday.

As encouraging a sign as baby Arthur's birth was, it might be unwise to celebrate too prematurely.

"Good." Henry responded absently, thinking that Anne would be pleased to know that her father was being honoured. It was only right that the grandfather of a future King of England should be raised to the highest level of the peerage. There was little enough he could do to make it up to Anne that she couldn't be Queen but at least he could do this much for her. He frowned up at Wolsey, remembering what Cranmer had said when he ate dinner with them. "Do you know Master Cranmer, the Princess Consort's chaplain?" He asked in a clipped tone, his frown deepening at the mention of Anne's title, the one devised for her since she couldn't be Queen.

Wolsey was taken aback by the question but he hid his surprise with an expression of polite enquiry. "I must confess that I do not know him well, Your Majesty." He answered.

"I think that you would benefit from his acquaintance, Your Eminence." Henry told him, setting aside the document he was reading and giving Wolsey his full attention. "He is a shrewd and clever man, with a sound grasp of theology." Although he did not explicitly say that he considered Cranmer's grasp of theology to be superior to Wolsey's, the implication was plain. "He made a very insightful observation regarding my Great Matter – one I'm sure would interest you."

"Of course." Wolsey responded immediately, trying to suppress the apprehension he felt when Henry spoke of his Great Matter, worried about what might happen if he chose to revisit the issue.

He knew well the problems that it would raise if Henry commanded him to reopen the matter of his first marriage, something that would not only offend the Emperor, who would be insulted by the very idea of the King of England wanting to cast his aunt aside, but which also would not endear Henry to the pope. Wolsey didn't doubt that it was with great reluctance that Clement had consented to grant Henry the dispensation allowing Henry to take Anne as his second wife, something that he would only have allowed because he believed that it was the only way to resolve the situation, and he would not be pleased if, after he had made such a remarkable concession, Henry turned around and decided that the solution was no longer a satisfactory one.

And even if the pope and the Emperor could be placated, somehow, Henry's own people would be another matter. Few were pleased with the fact that Henry had sought to set aside a Queen who was beloved throughout England and any hint that he was once more seeking to rid himself of her would threaten their acceptance of both Anne and Arthur.

"Master Cranmer observed that the matter of the validity of my marriage to the Lady Katherine was not and never had been a legal issue." Henry told him. "After all, as King, I am set above the law – am I not?" He asked, waiting for Wolsey to nod in response before he continued. "And therefore what court could have the authority to try me? He suggested that it would have been wiser, and more fitting, for us to have canvassed the opinion of the universities on the validity of my marriage. They would have been able to deliver a swift verdict, and a favourable one."

Wolsey swallowed, more troubled than he cared to admit by Henry's indication that he did not consider even a papal court to have the authority to try him. "An intriguing idea, Your Majesty."

"It is." Henry agreed, still in the same cold tone. "I thought that it was an excellent idea, one that could have made things much easier for us two years ago... if you had thought of it." He fixed Wolsey with a glare that sent a chill through the other man's heart. "I must admit that I was surprised that _you_ didn't come up with it, Your Eminence. You are a clever man, and I understand that your knowledge of theology is thorough, yet this simple solution never occurred to you. Why do you think that is?"

The question was plainly a rhetorical one so Wolsey remained silent, his heart thudding in his chest, so rapidly that it felt as though it might leap from his body.

"You were the one who advised me to accept the pope's compromise." Henry continued angrily. "You were the one who said that there was no chance that I would be able to get my annulment, even if I pressed with my case. You never suggested canvassing the universities, you never offered any solutions to my problem."

"Your Majesty, I..." Wolsey attempted to explain but Henry silenced him with a scowl, clearly unwilling to listen to a word that he had to say.

"If you had, perhaps we wouldn't be in this situation now." Henry said, his anger growing as he looked at the man whom he had thought to be a diligent servant, always concerned for his interests and ready to serve him, however he could, but who had been unable to obtain his annulment for him. He did not consider it an outrageous request; Kings could always obtain annulments when it became necessary for the sake of the succession or for some reason, even when there was no true reason for their marriage to be considered invalid, yet he, who had good reason to consider his marriage doubtful, was thwarted. Why should that be, unless Wolsey had not truly made every effort, employing every means at his disposal to secure the annulment? "Were you incompetent, Your Eminence... or did you betray me?"

Wolsey did not say a word.

There was nothing he could say.

* * *

"Your Majesties." Lady Bryan curtsied deeply as soon as Katherine and Anne were ushered into the parlour of Hatfield. Lady Mary Carey and Lady Anne Clifford, who had accompanied Katherine, stood behind their respective mistresses and she greeted them with nods. "It is a great honour. Welcome to Hatfield."

"Thank you, Lady Bryan." Although Katherine gave the governess a pleasant smile, she wished that Lady Salisbury was the one appointed as mistress of Hatfield; Mary's governess was a friend, somebody that Katherine knew well and trusted to care for Mary but Lady Bryan was a stranger to her. All she really knew of her was that she was related to Anne in some way.

"How is my son?" Anne asked, wasting no time on formalities. "How is the Prince?"

Lady Bryan turned towards Anne, dipping another curtsey. "His Highness the Prince is in excellent health, Your Majesty." She assured her. "I have sent instructions that he is to be brought down at once – and Princess Mary too, of course, Your Majesty." She added to Katherine, feeling rather flustered. She had not expected that both women would be arriving at Hatfield together, having been previously informed that it was the King and the Princess Consort who intended to visit today, with no mention of when the Queen would visit. She ushered them towards chairs by the fire, sending servants to fetch refreshments.

They did not have to wait long for the children to be brought down.

As Prince of Wales, Arthur and his little entourage preceded Mary into the room. His nurse was cradling him tenderly in her arms and it seemed to Katherine that the woman was somewhat reluctant to turn the baby over to his mother. It was understandable, in a way. Royal mothers were prevented from spending as much time with their children as they might wish by virtue of their position, which meant that their attendants were the ones to oversee the details of their upbringing and they naturally became attached to the children in their care. She could remember that when Mary was a baby, her nurse was devoted to her and seemed to almost resent Katherine's visits.

Whether Arthur's nurse liked it or not, however, she was obliged to hand her little charge over to his mother, who cuddled him close, cooing over him and carrying him over to the cushioned window seat. Her sister followed her, leaning over her shoulder to admire the baby.

Mary entered a few moments after her half-brother was carried in, with Lady Salisbury following just behind her. She ran straight to her mother, hugging her tightly.

"Mama!" She beamed up at her mother, delighted to see her. "I didn't think that you were coming – they just told me about her," she nodded in Anne's direction, something that Anne did not notice, "and Papa. They didn't say that you were coming too. Where is Papa?" She asked, looking around but not seeing her father anywhere.

"He wasn't able to come today, sweetheart, and I thought that I'd surprise you." Katherine explained, bending down to kiss the top of her daughter's head. Even though it was only a matter of weeks since they were parted, it seemed to her as though Mary had grown in that short time. She was torn between pride at the lovely, clever young woman her daughter was becoming and sorrow over how quickly the years of Mary's girlhood were passing, and regret that they had to be apart for so much of those years. "How are you, my darling daughter? How are you faring with your studies?" She asked, stroking Mary's hair.

"I'm well, and Dr Fetherstone says that I am progressing well, doesn't he, Lady Salisbury?" She turned to her governess for corroboration.

"He does indeed, Your Majesty." Lady Salisbury seconded her charge. "The Princess is doing very well with her studies, and is a most diligent pupil."

Katherine smiled at this, feeling blessed to have such a daughter. Even if she had been offered the opportunity to do so, she would never have contemplated exchanging Mary for a son. She loved her daughter too much to want to change her. "And how is your brother?" She asked softly, drawing Mary towards the chairs by the fire, further away from Anne, and keeping her voice low.

"He's well." Mary told her. "He's a pretty good baby." She conceded, half-grudgingly. "He knows me now, when I go into the nursery to see him." She added in a brighter tone. "He smiles at me."

"I'm sure that he loves to see you, sweetheart." Katherine said, feeling relieved that Mary was beginning to warm towards Arthur. She looked across at Anne and her sister playing with baby Arthur and she rose, reaching out to take Mary's hand to lead her over to the window seat.

Anne stiffened a little at her approach, holding Arthur closer to her. He turned his head at Katherine and Mary's approach, gurgling briefly at the sight of Mary before looking quizzically at Katherine, whose face was not familiar to him.

"He's a beautiful baby, Anne." Katherine said kindly, deliberately using the other woman's first name in the hopes that it might break the ice between them, at least a little. "May I hold him?"

Anne hesitated, reluctant to hand her child over to her rival but she chided herself inwardly for her hesitation. Whatever Katherine's feelings about the unorthodox marital arrangements, however much she might loathe Anne personally and wish that she had never met Henry, much less won his love, she knew that the other woman would never consider harming an innocent child in any way. She nodded slowly, kissing Arthur's downy head before gently depositing him in Katherine's arms, but she kept one hand on his head as Katherine held him.

Everybody at court insisted that baby Arthur was the image of Henry but, although Katherine could see a certain similarity of features, and although she recognized that he had his mother's eyes, she thought that he was uncannily similar to his uncle and his namesake, with the same golden hair, unlike his dark-haired parents, although he was plump and rosy-cheeked while the first Prince Arthur was rather thin and delicate-looking, with a pale complexion.

Henry may have intended his choice of a name for his son to be a spiteful slight to her, an indication that he viewed her as Arthur's widow rather than his wife, but his choice was a fitting one.

Had she been Arthur's wife in truth, had they been blessed with a son, Katherine thought that he might have looked like the baby in her arms.

Baby Arthur regarded her curiously for a few moments, as though he was studying her to decide whether she was a friend or a foe. He seemed to settle on the former, and he gave her a wide, gummy smile, chuckling at her, revelling in the attention of a new admirer. Katherine returned his smile, allowing him to grasp one of her fingers, which he immediately guided towards his mouth for closer inspection, particularly fascinated by the ruby ring on her finger.

"I think he likes you, Mama." Mary said, her feelings towards her half-brother warming a little more now that she could see that he was able to recognize that her mother was a good woman.

Katherine smiled at her daughter by way of response, before returning Arthur to his mother and watching as Anne cradled her son in her arms. As difficult as it had been for her to say goodbye to Mary, first when she was sent to Ludlow and then when she was sent to Hatfield, she was glad that they were at least able to live under the same roof for Mary's infancy and early childhood and she pitied Anne, who had had to part with Arthur much sooner, when he was still a little baby.

Her voice was low when she spoke to the other woman, so that the servants would not overhear her. "This isn't easy for you either, is it?" She asked. She believed that Anne truly loved Henry and she could imagine that she was no happier about the prospect of sharing a husband than Katherine was. The situation was one that was hard on all of them; she, Anne, Henry and Mary all had problems with their current circumstances and, although baby Arthur was too young to know that there was anything unusual about his family at present, it was likely that this was something that he too would have difficulty dealing with.

If there was a way of easing things, they had to take it, for everybody's sake.

At first, it seemed as though Anne had either not heard the question or was choosing to ignore it. She gave no sign that she heard Katherine speak for a moment but then she looked up from Arthur to meet Katherine's eyes, shaking her head. Her voice was soft when she spoke.

"No, it's not."

Katherine nodded understanding, her expression softening as she spoke to Anne, woman to woman, for the first time since Henry and Anne's marriage, perhaps the first time since she confronted Anne, who was still one of her ladies-in-waiting in those days, warning her that Henry would tire of her. "So what do you think we can do to make it less difficult?"


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**_16th April 1532_ **

None of the members of the royal family attended the funeral.

The King could never attend funerals, as it was treason to imagine the death of a King, a thought that would prove unavoidable if he was present for a funeral, and even though the man who was being buried today was his friend and mentor for many years, his loyal advisor and Lord Chancellor, the man who was second only to the King in terms of the power he wielded, and the man who was papal legate and the foremost churchman in England, no exception could be made. Later, the King would be able to attend a Requiem Mass honouring his friend but not today.

For the same reason, neither Queen Katherine nor the Princess Consort attended the funeral – though few courtiers imagined that either lady was especially disappointed about this, as neither had thought especially highly of Wolsey during his lifetime, which was one thing they had in common, and were unlikely to have changed their minds now that he was dead – and as Prince Arthur was still just a toddler, too young to be trusted to behave himself on such a solemn occasion, and as Princess Mary was away at Hatfield, neither of them was present today.

Sir Thomas More was in attendance, sitting in the pew immediately behind the one that was usually reserved for the King and for the Princess Consort and that was left empty in their absence out of respect, as no courtier would have dared to sit there, listening as Archbishop Warham conducted the funeral Mass for Wolsey and thinking that it would not be long before the old archbishop followed Wolsey to the grave, as he seemed to be halfway there already.

In less than five years since the King first demanded that his marriage to Queen Katherine should be annulled so that he might be free to make Lady Anne his wife, and since the Holy Father granted permission for the King to marry a second wife bigamously if he would allow his first wife to retain her place as his Queen for the rest of her life rather than forcing the pope into a position where he would have to offend either the King of England by refusing to grant him his annulment when he asked for it, or the Holy Roman Emperor if he granted the annulment and exposed him to the shame of having an aunt who was declared to have lived in sin for many years, Warham had aged more than most men would in ten or fifteen years.

He moved slowly as he conducted the service in honour of his fellow man of the cloth and, from his place, More could see that the other man trembled as he moved, shuffling under the weight of his heavy, ornate vestments, his voice hoarse and cracking as he spoke the Latin words of the Mass, and he was so nervous that he almost dropped the gold chalice at one point.

More could understand why.

As Archbishop of Canterbury, Warham was the senior archbishop in England but, during Wolsey's lifetime, he was the one who had wielded the most power and influence by far, even being appointed as papal legate ahead of Warham, because of his undeniable influence with the King and his diplomatic skills, and now that he was gone, the senior ecclesiastical role would fall to Warham, who must doubt his ability to fill Wolsey's shoes, unsurprisingly so, as he lacked Wolsey's diplomatic skills and his sheer determination. Warham's new role was also one that had become more difficult in the past years, as the King – who had never recovered from his disappointment and anger over not being allowed to annul his marriage to Queen Katherine, as he wished, and who More believed still harboured resentment towards the pope over this – was becoming increasingly interested in the teachings of Luther and other reformers, willing to investigate ideas that he had once condemned as heresy and to take special interest in the parts that suited his own ideas about the power that a King should wield.

He had even gone so far as to commission an English translation of the Bible, one that was apparently intended to be dedicated to Henry and Anne.

It would now fall to Warham to maintain ties between England and the Holy Church, ensuring that the spread of heresy in the country was halted, but how could he be expected to do that?

When one of the King's wives, and the mother of his only surviving son, was the one who was pushing heretical books into his hands, bringing them into the country for the purpose of showing them to him, encouraging him to read them for her sake and drawing his attention to passages that were certain to appeal to a man like Henry, passages that highlighted the authority of Kings, and stressed that they need not bow to the authority of the Holy Father as they were answerable to God alone, how could Warham guard against that without showing any hint of disapproval towards the Princess Consort, which would undoubtedly arouse the King's anger against him?

Even Wolsey had found it difficult to make the King see reason where Anne was concerned and, more often than not, Henry sided with Anne whenever the issue of her religious leaning was brought up, refusing to listen to any suggestion that she might be leading him astray and making it clear that her enemies were his enemies too, and could not hope for friendship or favour from him. He had even listened to her when she appealed to him to spare the lives of men who were charged with heresy by the Church authorities and brought to trial, acquiescing to her requests, freeing the men from the Tower without punishment and commanding that they should not be troubled again, or those who attempted to do so would be the ones who were punished.

Now that she was with child again, her influence was stronger than ever.

If she bore a Duke of York, every word from her lips would be Gospel to the King and every heretic in England would be free to swan around unchecked, spreading their teachings among the people, many of whom would find them appealing, especially those who lived in poverty and who harboured resentment towards the clergy, who seemed to be so much better off than they were. Perhaps, through her, the reformers would even be able to see to it that the next Archbishop of York would be somebody who agreed with their teachings and would support them.

Maybe Anne's chaplain, Cranmer, would soon be wearing the vestments of an archbishop, either as Wolsey's replacement or else as Warham's, if the Boleyns decided to wait until the archbishopric of Canterbury became vacant, instead of a faithful Catholic being chosen to shoulder the weighty responsibility of safeguarding England's faith now that it was coming under threat.

More could not help but fear for the future of the Church in England.

As More knelt before the pew, his hands folded as he prayed to God to judge Wolsey kindly, and prayed that the other man who, for all his faults, had been a staunch churchman and who had always sought to serve England well, would spend the shortest possible amount of time in Purgatory before he was admitted into Heaven, his soul cleansed of all his Earthly sins, as an infant was cleansed of original sin at its baptism, he couldn't help but think that Wolsey's death must have come as a relief to him, as it meant that his struggles were finally over.

Wolsey might have managed to avoid incurring Anne's enmity, and therefore that of the King, by cultivating a friendship with her, sending her expensive gifts on a regular basis, and doing the same for her little son, and always showing his support for her place as the King's favourite wife and as the mother of the heir to the throne, even if she did not yet enjoy the title of Queen, and by never making any attempt to persuade the King that it might be unwise for him to show such marked favour to Anne's kin, something that had led to considerable resentment at court among those who but the past couple of years had not been easy for him.

After his failure to secure the King the annulment he sought, a failure that almost everybody could see was unavoidable, no matter how skilled a diplomat Wolsey was and no matter how much influence he had wielded, both within ecclesiastical circles and in secular, diplomatic circles, he had not enjoyed the King's friendship to the same extent that he had before the Great Matter, and he found himself being supplanted by Anne's father and uncle as the King's most trusted advisor in the council chambers, and by Anne herself as his advisor in private, obliged to watch while the King turned to them first for counsel instead of to him, as he used to, and to turn over more of his treasures and properties to the King as gifts, to keep Henry's temper sweet.

Had he lived longer, who knew how much more he might have lost?

By dying now, he would never have to struggle to maintain his power and influence, competing with the Boleyns and the Howards for the King's ear and friendship, knowing that if anything happened to the King, his one-time rivals for power would be the ones whose favour he would have to curry if he hoped to continue to enjoy any semblance of power in political matters, and he would never have to see the Church in England destroyed by the reformers who, now that they knew that they had a friend in the Princess Consort, a friend who could be counted on to protect them from reprisals for their activities, were growing more confident than ever, no longer troubling to hide their activities as they once had and counting on their patroness' protection.

Perhaps God had shown mercy to Wolsey by striking him down with his illness when he did, sparing him that sight, along with the pain that losing the King's favour would have caused him, but what would happen to the Church without Wolsey there to defend it?

Warham was not a man who would be able to champion the Church if those close to the King wanted to see it brought low and were able to tempt Henry with the promise of the power that would be his if he broke away from Rome, and even if he was, it was plain that he was not long for this world. If he was still alive two years from today, More would be surprised. Men like Bishop Fisher, who might have championed the Church's interests, were not in favour with the King or with Anne's influential family, as none of them could approve of the King's attempt to set aside his lawful wife or of his willingness to take a second wife when he was prevented from doing so, and they had made the mistake of showing their disapproval, earning the King's enmity.

While Wolsey's influence had been greatly diminished, it still existed and he had had far more sway with the King than Warham or any other churchman could ever hope to have.

More was sure that the Church was burying its true friend today.

* * *

**_21st April 1532_ **

Henry was wearing black from head to toe as he and More walked through the gardens, enjoying the spring sunshine. Since Wolsey's death, it felt as though he had scarcely had a moment to himself. In addition to arranging for the funeral, and for court mourning, it was also imperative that no time should be lost when it came to choosing the men who would succeed Wolsey in his various court offices, as too long a delay before a new candidate was appointed, even if that delay was out of respect for a dead friend, could threaten the smooth running of the country.

Wolsey would have been the first to tell him to waste no time choosing his replacements, knowing that the welfare of England mattered far more than sentiment ever could.

Although Henry was well aware of the fact that Wolsey wielded more power and influence than most monarchs would ever allow one of their subjects to, and although he had once been grateful to be able to leave matters of state in Wolsey's hands, while he devoted his time to the pursuits in which he delighted, it wasn't until after the other man was dead, and he was presented with a list of the newly vacated offices that would have to be filled, that he realized just how much Wolsey did for him and for the country... and just how much power and wealth the late cardinal managed to secure for himself without Henry ever knowing the full extent of it.

All of Wolsey's vast wealth, excepting only a few modest bequests to his mistress, Joan Larke, and to his illegitimate children – bequests that would have to be sent to them with the utmost discretion, out of respect for Wolsey's holy office – well as a portion devoted to his college at Oxford, was left to the Crown. Wolsey's palaces, his treasures, all of the money he had amassed throughout the course of his glorious career, virtually everything that he had to leave, passed into Henry's hands instead of going to fill the Church's coffers, a bequest that Henry was thankful for, as a King could never have too much land or money at his disposal, to pay his expenses and to ensure that he could go to war should it prove necessary, without having to approach Parliament for funding, cap in hand, but the offices Wolsey had held during his lifetime were not his to dispose of by will so Henry had to choose which of his courtiers were to be favoured with them, and there was no shortage of eager candidates ready to accept them.

When it came to choosing who would replace Wolsey as President of the Privy Council, he knew straightaway that he wanted to choose the Duke of Norfolk, and Anne's father, created Duke of Wiltshire when Arthur was a baby, as befitted the grandfather of a future King. The two men could govern the Council jointly, and Henry knew that he would never need to fear that either of them would ever try to work against Anne's interests or Arthur's in favour of Katherine and Mary when he was gone, as some people might, especially those who favoured an Imperial alliance. He could trust them, and that was the most important thing. For George Boleyn, there was the exalted role of Lord Privy Seal, although he was young for the position, and most of Wolsey's former offices had already been filled by men that Henry liked or Anne had recommended.

All but the role of Lord Chancellor.

When he spoke to Anne about it, she had suggested Master Cromwell but, although the man was a clever lawyer and had made himself invaluable as Henry's secretary, combining a sound knowledge of the law with a certain creativity when it came to solving problems he was presented with, Henry didn't believe that he was ready for such a post, not yet at any rate. For all his undoubted talents, he was of very humble birth and had not yet established himself in court circles to the extent that he would need to if he was to be expected to fulfil the role of Lord Chancellor.

He gave Cromwell a seat on the Privy Council as his legal advisor, both as a reward for Cromwell's past services and so that Anne would not be hurt by his decision to pass over the candidate she had recommended in favour of another man, one who was not a friend to her, as Cromwell was, especially as her condition would make her very sensitive to any perceived slights and she needed to be kept calm and content for their child's sake, so that their son could grow strong, but there was another man he had in mind for the role of Lord Chancellor, the man walking by his side.

Unlike most courtiers, More had never dropped the slightest hint that he expected or wanted to be a beneficiary of one of Wolsey's newly vacated offices and he had never been greedy for advancement, much less worldly wealth, which made him all the more suitable for the post to Henry's mind, a man who was free of corruption and who would always be loyal to him.

He would never need to worry about More accepting a bribe in return for manipulating policy to the benefit of the donor, whether that donor was an Englishman or a foreign monarch, and even More's respect for Katherine would never lead him to betray Henry for her sake, or to withhold his advice on legal ways in which Anne's position, not to mention Arthur's, could be bolstered.

"I need to appoint a new Chancellor." He began without preamble, as soon as they had walked far enough that he could be confident that they would not be overheard. "Someone I can trust. You are trained as a lawyer, and in royal service. You have international prestige; the friend of Erasmus, the greatest humanist in all of England. You have a fine, sharp mind." He could hear a persuasive note entering his voice but, although it felt strange to be asking More to accept the role of Lord Chancellor, a role that many courtiers would have given their eye teeth for, practically wheedling with the other man to take it instead of _bestowing_ it upon him as the great mark of favour that it was, he knew that More was not like other courtiers and did not covet the role.

This was part of the reason why he had chosen him.

More had paid scant attention to the gossip about who would succeed Wolsey in his various offices, so it had not occurred to him to expect that he might be one of those favoured with a position, much less the position of Lord Chancellor, which had been held primarily by churchmen over the past few centuries. His first instinct was to refuse the role outright but before he could decline it, he hesitated, reconsidering his decision, not because he craved the power of the office but because he realized what he might do with it, and what might happen if he declined the honour.

It was not the thought of Henry's anger that stayed his tongue as much as the thought of who might be appointed to the position if he refused to accept it.

If he thought that somebody like Bishop Fisher might be appointed Chancellor, should he refuse to accept the post, he would have refused the honour in a heartbeat, without feeling the slightest twinge of regret for the missed opportunity, as he did not seek power or position, much less worldly wealth, and he knew that Bishop Fisher would be able to fulfil the role admirably, defending the position and interests of the Church and ensuring that Queen Katherine's position would be protected, but he knew that it was very unlikely that Bishop Fisher would ever be chosen for such a role, not when he was known to have supported Queen Katherine's cause during the Great Matter, which was something the King would not forgive.

England could not be left without a Lord Chancellor and Henry would not leave the post vacant long while he tried to persuade him to accept it, even if his refusal did not offend Henry so much that he never offered him the post a second time. If he refused, it was likely that an uncle or cousin of Anne's would be found to fill the position, or else somebody like Cromwell would be chosen, somebody that the Boleyns and Howards would approve of and support wholeheartedly, somebody who could be trusted to make Anne's interests and the interests of Anne's children their priority, at the expense of Queen Katherine and Princess Mary if necessary, but if he took the job he was being offered, he could help to protect them from further losses.

How could he refuse such an opportunity?

When he nodded, telling Henry that he would be honoured, the other man's smile was a wide one.

"You won't regret this." Henry promised, clapping More on the shoulder. He was genuinely happy that More had accepted the role, knowing that More would never shrink from giving his honest opinion, and it would also be beneficial for him if people knew that a man like More was working by his side, helping him govern the country. If he had chosen Cromwell, few of the common people would have heard his name, so they would not know if they should rejoice at his appointment or not, and the appointment of somebody by the name of Boleyn or Howard could be met with suspicion if the people thought that he had appointed a man who would be Anne's friend and Katherine's enemy. He squinted up at the sky, trying to judge the position of the sun and, when he estimated that it was barely an hour away from noon, he turned back towards the palace, motioning for More to accompany him. "Come with me, Sir Thomas – there's no time like the present for you to begin your new duties." He invited jovially, leading the way inside.

He had intended that Anne should be present for the planned audience for the French ambassador, because of her desire for a French alliance, and for his next audience with the new Imperial ambassador, Mendoza's replacement, because he didn't like to waste any opportunity to make it clear that she was his true wife and consort, even if he was obliged to call Katherine his Queen, and he considered it most important of all to make her status clear to the Emperor, so he would not think to challenge her rights and the rights of their children. However, even though she was finished her third month of pregnancy, she was still very sick in the mornings and early afternoon – a sure sign of a boy, the midwife assured him, especially as she was also frequently sick when she was carrying Arthur. He would tell her everything they discussed later but, in Anne's absence, More could join him to receive the ambassador.

It would be good practice for his new role as Chancellor.

Once they reached his Privy Chamber, where the audience was to take place, he sat down at the table and motioned for More to do likewise. A groom poured wine for them both.

"Ambassador de Bellay has asked to speak with me, to discuss the marriage between the Duke of Orleans and my daughter now that the boy has reached the age of fourteen, and may be married." He explained to More, sipping his wine slowly, a frown creasing his brow. When he agreed to the match, a match that Wolsey had encouraged, preferring a French marriage for Mary than a Spanish one, as Katherine advocated, he had had his doubts about whether or not he should allow the marriage to take place, given that he knew that Mary should have been declared illegitimate, and that she would have been, if not for the pope's cowardice, but he had put the matter aside while the Duke of Orleans was too young to marry, hoping to find a solution.

Now, he had run out of time and was faced with the prospect of allowing the marriage, despite his misgivings, unless he could find another way to avoid it.

One of his grooms bowed deeply when he entered the room. "His Excellency the French ambassador, Your Majesty." He announced. Henry motioned for him to lead the ambassador in and, with another bow, the groom stepped back to admit Ambassador de Bellay, whose smile was wide and friendly as he entered the room, doffing his feathered hat with a flourish. He was a pleasant man to do business with, as he was good-humoured and well spoken. So many ambassadors could be stiff and dull, so it was good to have somebody more agreeable.

"Your Majesty." Bellay bowed to Henry. "Thank you for receiving me."

"It is my pleasure, Your Excellency." Henry told him graciously. "I'm afraid that my wife is indisposed, and will be unable to join us today, though she will be happy to receive you later this afternoon, I am sure." He said, smiling approvingly at Bellay when the other man did not ask which of his wives he was referring to. At least the French knew how things stood, and accepted it, instead of trying to make trouble by pointedly honouring Katherine as Queen and ignoring Anne as much as they dared, as the Spanish did. He indicated that Bellay should take a seat, nodding for the groom to fetch wine for him, and then indicated More. "Allow me to present Sir Thomas More, my new Lord Chancellor." He introduced, watching More incline his head politely.

"Your Excellency."

"Sir Thomas." Bellay inclined his head in return. "May I congratulate you on your appointment?"

"Thank you, Your Excellency." More's response was polite and he listened attentively, eager to learn all he could of this matter. Although he knew that Queen Katherine was disappointed that her daughter was to be married to a French prince, especially when that prince was a second son rather than the heir to the throne, whose wife was unlikely to ever enjoy the title of Queen of France, it would still help to protect Princess Mary if she was married into the French royal family, as she would then enjoy the protection of the King of France as well as that of the Holy Roman Emperor, which would be to her benefit and that of her mother.

Henry settled back in his chair, waiting for Bellay to begin to speak.

"His Majesty King Francis is looking forward to welcome your lovely daughter, Princess Mary, as his son's bride." Bellay told him warmly. "But there are a few minor matters to be arranged."

"Your master does not need to have any fears about my daughter's dowry." Henry responded at once, anticipating the question. When he arranged for his sister, Margaret, to marry the King of Portugal, the question of her dowry was a matter for long negotiations. Even though his sister was young and beautiful while her prospective husband was old and in poor health, the King of Portugal still expected that Margaret should travel to her new kingdom accompanied by a lavish dowry, and after his death, his son had attempted to hold onto Margaret's dowry, and might have done so, if not for Wolsey's diplomacy. Henry wondered if he would ever have been able to forgive Brandon if his impetuousness in bringing Margaret back from Portugal, before a decent period of mourning for her late husband had passed and before arrangements could be made for the return of her dowry, had cost him that dowry. "Two hundred thousand crowns, as agreed."

Bellay inclined his head. "Your Majesty is most generous." He praised before hesitating, a token pause to let Henry know that he had more to say. "There is one other matter, however..."

"What is it?" Henry asked, a note of terseness creeping into his tone. He could sense that, whatever it was that Bellay planned to say, he probably would not want to hear it.

All the diplomatic posturing and honeyed words in the world could not make bad news palatable.

"My master wishes to ensure that there can be no question over the status of his son's future bride, and I am sure that Your Majesty will understand that he will need certain assurances about Princess Mary's position, and her legitimacy, especially under the circumstances, as her rights were called into question not long ago. He asks that Your Majesty formally confirm that Princess Mary is your legitimate daughter and that, as such, it is her right to stand next in the succession after His Highness the Prince of Wales, and any sons born of Your Majesty's marriages."

Henry felt as though his tongue was frozen, leaving him unable to utter a word.

At the back of his mind, he knew that Francis' request was a reasonable one. Were their positions reversed, if Francis' marriage to his Queen was in doubt, he would never have agreed to allow one of the other monarch's daughters to marry Arthur without receiving assurances that the girl was his legitimate daughter, and that she would always be recognized as such, and he would not be satisfied with an informal promise, knowing that it could be broken as easily as it was made, and that he could see the Princess of Wales, the mother of his grandsons, declared illegitimate.

A prince could not shame his house by marrying a bastard, even if she was of royal blood.

However, he also knew that he could not swear that Mary was legitimate.

Not only did he know that he was never truly married to Katherine, who was only allowed to continue to call herself his wife and Queen of England because she boasted a powerful relation who would have been willing to wage war against England and Rome rather than admit the truth, what would it mean for Arthur if he now committed himself to recognizing Mary as his legitimate child now, for the sake of making this marriage, only for the Emperor to put pressure on the cowardly Clement to declare that his marriage to Anne was no marriage, after all, and that Arthur and the other children they would have were bastards and ineligible to succeed?

If he said that Mary was legitimate, it was tantamount to saying that Katherine was his wife and that was something he would not be able to unsay if Anne's place as his wife was challenged in the future and he was put in a position where he would need to defend her and to make it clear that she was his only wife and that the children she bore him were his only legitimate heirs.

When Anne was stricken with the sweating sickness and half dead of it, he swore a solemn oath that he would never treat Katherine as his wife and that he would never allow Mary, a child conceived without the blessing of holy wedlock, to inherit his throne. God had heard his prayers and, in His mercy, He had restored Anne to health and blessed them with their beautiful son.

How could he break his vow now and risk losing Anne?

Even for Mary, he couldn't take any chances with Anne's life, or Arthur's.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see More watching him, his expression expectant at first but becoming concerned when he did not immediately promise Bellay the assurance he sought.

More would never be able to understand this, he knew that.

For all his intelligence in other ways, his new Lord Chancellor was blind when it came to Katherine and Mary's positions, unable to see that Katherine was not truly Henry's wife and that she had no right to the title of Queen of England, or to accept that Anne was his true wife and consort, or to see that Mary bore the title of Princess by courtesy, not by right. Ordinarily, it would not trouble Henry unduly, as long as More never tried to work to undermine Anne's position and as long as he recognized Arthur's rights as heir, but his disapproving scrutiny was unwelcome now.

More was waiting for him to vow that Mary was his legitimate daughter, second only to his legitimate sons in the line of succession, and that she would always be recognized as such, with her rights upheld should they ever be challenged again, regardless of who tried to deny her royal status, but Henry couldn't say it.

Instead, he forced himself to smile at Bellay. "If your master requires further proof of my affection and esteem for my beloved daughter, Mary, and of my earnest desire to see her married to his noble son, the Duke of Orleans, then I would be happy to increase her dowry by a further hundred thousand crowns." He offered, feeling relieved to see the astonishment on Bellay's face at his proposal and to know that the ambassador was taken aback at the thought that Henry would offer _more_ by way of a dowry for Mary instead of trying to negotiate downwards, as most monarchs would, no matter how dearly they loved their daughters. Even if this request on Francis' part was not intended as a way of getting him to supply Mary with a larger dowry, the other monarch would still be pleased by the prospect of more money with his new daughter-in-law, hopefully pleased enough to ensure that he would drop this condition and accept Mary as a bride for the Duke of Orleans without Henry having to make the formal declaration he was asking for.

If Francis agreed to this, perhaps they might even be able to negotiate a price he would accept in exchange for renouncing Mary's rights, and those of any children that she and the Duke of Orleans might have, to succeed to the English throne entirely, and consenting to the idea that even if Anne bore him a daughter, she would follow her brothers in the succession, not Mary, something that would be more fitting by far than for Mary to be allowed a place in the line of succession.

Henry would be able to leave Mary in possession of her title of Princess with an easy heart if that could be arranged, and surely even the Emperor would not object, if it was something that Mary's new family freely consented to when she married the Duke of Orleans, if it could be shown that he was not forcing them to abdicate Mary's place in the succession. He was sure that the Emperor would not want to see the Valois gain control of England through Mary, even if she was his cousin, as he would not want to see France become more powerful than it already was.

He also had a daughter who was not much older than Arthur, the Infanta Maria.

If she could be betrothed to Arthur, then the Emperor would cease to champion Mary and would never seek to undermine Arthur's claim to the throne, which would mean that he could not defend Katherine's right to be Henry's wife at Anne's expense. He would rather see his daughter as Princess of Wales and, eventually, as Queen of England and to know that his grandchildren would sit on the throne one day than to preserve England for Mary and the Duke of Orleans, who might one day ally with the Dauphin against the interests of Spain.

"That is very generous of Your Majesty." Bellay said, once he had recovered the use of his tongue. "I will relay your offer to my master, who I am sure would wish for me to thank you on his behalf."

Henry inclined his head graciously, gesturing with his hand to indicate that the audience was at an end and that Bellay might leave. There was nothing more that he wanted to say to him, and nothing further could be settled on until Bellay got in touch with Francis regarding Henry's offer and could relay his response, a response that would hopefully be a positive one.

The ambassador had no sooner bowed out of the room than More shifted in his seat so that he could look Henry directly in the eye, his disapproval plain.

"Harry..." He began in a calm tone, hoping to reason with him. He omitted the usual honourific, thinking that it would be best to speak to Henry as a friend to a friend, rather than as a man to his sovereign if he was to have any hope of persuading him to see reason in this matter. Surely he would not jeopardize the future of his beloved daughter in order to avoid committing himself to recognizing her right to legitimacy! More couldn't believe it of him. He knew that Henry loved Mary dearly, as he had since the day the Princess was born, so why would he shrink from doing everything he could for her now?

Henry didn't need to hear what More had to say, not when he could already guess. It was written all over the other man's face that he wanted to remonstrate with him, to convince him to agree to the condition for Mary's sake, and Henry didn't want to listen to him. He didn't want to quarrel with a man he respected and was proud to count as a friend and, more than that, he didn't want to take the risk that More might be able to coax him into agreeing to a course of action that might one day prove to be damaging for Anne and Arthur.

No matter how much he respected More, no matter how much he would like to know that the other man agreed with his course of action, he could never agree to that.

"You are excused, Sir Thomas." He told him brusquely, not giving him a chance to say another word. I will receive the new Imperial ambassador alone."

If not for the sharp edge to Henry's voice, an edge that made it clear that he had no intention to listening to reason on this matter, not now at any rate, More might have stayed and attempted to reason with him, pointing out the advantages for Princess Mary if he agreed to King Francis' condition, and showed him that there was no need to worry about Prince Arthur's position. However, in Henry's present mood, nobody, not even his friend, would be able to reason with him and any attempt to sway him was likely to make him more stubborn than ever.

All More could do was rise from the table, bow to his friend and sovereign, and leave the room.

* * *

As soon as there was a vacancy for a position as a lady-in-waiting or a maid of honour at court, it was inevitable that there would be an influx of letters from members of the nobility and the gentry, dropping heavy hints about how greatly they would appreciate it if their sister or their daughter or their niece could be appointed to the coveted position. While members of the senior nobility, and those who held high offices could usually obtain permission for members of their family to live at court with them if they applied for it, they were still very aware of the value of an appointment in the Queen's household, or that of the Princess Consort and very eager to obtain it for their relatives.

A young girl who entered the service of either royal lady would be admitted to the inner circle of court life, ideally placed to be presented to eligible gentlemen and noblemen, men who stood high in royal favour and who had promising careers in front of them, gentlemen that few fathers would object to welcoming into their families as a son-in-law. These girls would be the ones chosen for masques, during which they would be able to catch the attention of prospective suitors, and if they served their royal mistress diligently, and pleased her, they would be able to count on her support for the marriage they hoped to make, or she might even help with arranging a suitable match if they were of a shy, retiring nature and could not attract male attention as other ladies did.

Katherine had even supplied many of her ladies with dowries, or supplemented the marriage portions they received from their families, if their families were not in a position to dower them well enough to allow them to make good matches, ensuring that they would be well provided for after they left her service, and she imagined that Anne would do the same, so there was also a strong financial advantage to serving in the household of a royal lady.

Over the past few months, several ladies had left royal service, to be married or to care for children at home, and both households were to be expanded, creating more positions.

Between them, Katherine's chamberlain and Anne's had compiled a list of the candidates who had applied for places so that they might make their choices and they were now sitting in the opulent surroundings of Katherine's apartment to decide which ladies they wanted to honour with the sought-after appointments, agreeing who would take which lady.

Out of the corner of her eye, Katherine could see her ladies staring at them, although most of them tried to look as though they were absorbed with their sewing and would never dream of trying to eavesdrop on a conversation between their the Queen of England and the Princess Consort, no matter how curious they were about what words might pass between them. It was likely that whatever she and Anne decided today, half of the court, including Anne's father and uncle, would know about it before those chosen for the positions could be informed of their good fortune but there was no way around that, no precaution save dismissing her ladies every time she received a visitor that would guard against spies.

Part of Katherine would have preferred to meet in Anne's rooms instead of hers, so that she would not need to worry about which of her own ladies were spies if word got out before it should, but they always took turns acting as hostess to the other and today, it was her turn.

At least now that they had begun to discuss things like this together, courtiers were not trying to decide which household was the better appointment for a young lady who wished to make a good marriage. Before, it seemed that many had thought it best to apply to Anne for a position, for fear that they would be suspected of supporting Katherine too strongly if they indicated a preference for her service rather than Anne's but now they could arrange things amicably enough.

Katherine recognized most of the names on the list, which was liberally sprinkled with Howards and Boleyns, and she focused on one of the familiar surnames.

"If you have no objection, I would like to offer Mistress Jane Seymour a place in my household." She told Anne, remembering when Jane Seymour's mother, the former Margery Wentworth, served as a maid of honour to Henry's mother, Queen Elizabeth of York, before her marriage to Sir John Seymour. None of the Seymour daughters had come to court yet but Katherine remembered Margery as a celebrated beauty and wondered if her daughter had inherited her looks – though it might be better for Jane if she had not, or at least not her mother's full measure of beauty; the court could be a dangerous place for a beautiful young woman, and even the Queen's chaperonage was not always sufficient protection from the men who preyed on young maidens.

These days, it seemed that far too many of the gentlemen of the court preferred to bed young ladies as their mistresses rather than doing the honourable thing and marrying them, and at least two young women Katherine knew of had had to leave the court in recent memory, when they became pregnant with a bastard whose father would not acknowledge it or marry her.

There were times when Katherine could scarcely believe that this was the same court as the one over which she and Henry had presided over when they first became King and Queen, a court where chivalry was a prized virtue among gentlemen and where Henry always sought her favour when he was jousting, and rode in the lists as her Sir Loyal Heart. This was no longer a court to which she would feel comfortable sending her own daughter if she was an English noblewoman and had to choose between allowing her to go to court or keeping her at home, quite the contrary.

"I don't mind," Anne agreed. She didn't know Jane Seymour, and had heard very little about the young woman's family but, even if she had, she knew that she wouldn't dispute it if Katherine asked that one of the candidates should have a place in her household, just as Katherine never argued with her when there was somebody that she wanted to have in her household. As Katherine pointed out almost two years ago, it was up to them to do what they could to make their situation as easy as possible, for all of their sakes and quarrelling over such trivial matters as which ladies they wanted in their households wouldn't help anybody. It was much more peaceful this way, and they didn't need to worry about being played off one another.

Katherine nodded, writing Jane's name on the sheet of parchment in front of her, and placing a neat tick beside her name on the list. "Is there anybody you want?" She prompted.

Anne pulled a wry face by way of response, before pointing to the name Lady Mary Howard. "She's my cousin, one of the Duke of Norfolk's daughters, so I'd better take her." She explained, trying to remember how old her cousin was.

It was difficult to keep track of so many Howards but she was sure that Lady Mary Howard could be no older than Princess Mary, if she was even as old as that. Most noblemen would ask that a daughter so young be appointed as a maid of honour, the role more commonly held by young, unmarried girls and a role that was highly sought after, for the benefits it brought to a girl, or else that she should be given a place in Princess Mary's household, as one of her companions, sharing the Princess' lessons and ensuring that she was well placed for a position as a lady-in-waiting in her household when the time came for Mary to leave England to be married, but her uncle wanted his daughter to be a full-fledged lady-in-waiting, despite her youth and the fact that many ladies of more mature years were seeking the vacant positions, and she could imagine his reaction if she refused to have her cousin in her household.

He would not be happy with her, as he firmly believed that it was her duty to use her status as Henry's favourite wife and consort to benefit her kin, however she could, whether that meant accepting any Howard who applied for a position in her household or encouraging Henry to appoint them to coveted offices within his Privy chamber or the court, and he was so used to the respect and deference he received as head of the Howard family that even her position as Princess Consort would not shield her from his anger if he felt that she was defying him.

She knew better than to court his anger over something so trivial.

Katherine nodded, refraining from voicing her thought that Anne was welcome to the girl. While she knew that Lady Mary Howard might be a perfectly pleasant girl, once who would be a respectful and dutiful attendant to her, and as grateful for the opportunity to serve her as any of the other young women would be, she knew better than to offer the daughter of the Duke of Norfolk a position in her household, as it would be all but guaranteed that the duke would use his daughter to spy on her, whether the girl was willing to do so or not, determined that her every move should be monitored and the information gathered used to benefit the Howards. She knew better than to hand him an opportunity like that on a silver platter.

"That's fine." She said, watching Anne write the name on her list in her flawless calligraphy.

The next name that caught her eye was one that was already familiar to her.

Mistress Catherine Brooke was the daughter of Maria de Salinas, one of the young ladies who had accompanied Katherine from Spain when she came to marry Prince Arthur, and who had shared the long, miserable and lonely years of exile and deprivation with her after Arthur's death, never yielding to the temptation to return to Spain, refusing to abandon her mistress. Shortly after Katherine married Henry and became Queen of England, as she was born to be, Maria married Lord Brooke and their only child was named for Katherine, who acted as her godmother.

Since the death of Catherine's parents, she was placed in the care of the Duke of Suffolk and Princess Margaret, as the ward of the former – Henry had granted the wardship to his friend as a gift, knowing that Catherine was wealthy and that, in his capacity as her guardian and the trustee of her considerable estate, Brandon would enjoy a comfortable income until the girl's marriage, and also be able to arrange her marriage, either to a friend or a relative of his who would benefit from the inheritance that would be Catherine's dowry – and Princess Margaret had mentioned the girl to Katherine before, praising her intelligence and good sense and suggesting that she might be an asset to the Queen's household, should Katherine grant her a position there.

Katherine would never have refused a place to Maria's daughter, and if Catherine possessed half of her mother's loyalty and good sense, she knew that she would be well-served by her.

As usual, she asked Anne whether she objected to Catherine Brooke joining her household, despite knowing that Anne was unlikely to have heard of Catherine, who had never been to court before, except as a child, much less to have any wish to have her in her household instead, and she nodded in response to Anne's suggestion that she should take Mary Shelton, sister of Madge, and another of her network of cousins. They worked their way through the list methodically, dividing the names between them, and were almost finished their task when Anne spoke.

"How is Princess Mary?" She asked curiously, wondering how her stepdaughter was faring. Although Mary wrote to both of her parents, more frequently to Katherine than to Henry, she never wrote to Anne and Anne didn't expect her to. She would have asked Henry about Mary but whenever she spoke of her, he was more interested in talking about Arthur and their coming child, whom he already referred to as the Duke of York, certain that the child she was carrying was a boy. This time, Anne was sure of it too, even before she and Henry consulted an astrologer who assured them that she was carrying a second son. "She hasn't come to court since Christmas."

"No." Despite her efforts to keep her tone even and pleasant, Katherine could hear a sharp edge enter her voice. It wasn't Anne's fault, she knew that. Anne had never asked Henry to keep Mary away from court, and even if she had, it was Henry's duty, as Mary's father, to refuse such a request and to make it clear to Anne that his daughter's place was at his court but, nevertheless, she couldn't help feeling angry at the thought of her adored child's exile. "I hope that she will be able to pay us a visit soon." She remarked, knowing that a few words from Anne's lips, recommending that Mary should be brought to court, were far more likely to move Henry that her pleas for their daughters company, and hating to think that this was now the case.

She shouldn't have to appeal to Anne in order to have Mary visit her at Whitehall. She should be able to discuss her daughter with her husband, instead of going through his other wife.

Anne took the hint and nodded. "I'm sure that Ambassador de Bellay would like to meet the Princess." She said, as casually as she could. "I'm sure that King Francis wants him to write to him to let him know about his future daughter-in-law, and that the Duke of Orleans is interested too." She could imagine that the young French prince was eager to see a portrait of his future bride and unlike a princess, who was not expected to concern herself with the appearance of her future husband, and who would not be encouraged to do so, even if she was worried about the kind of man to whom she was to be sent, his request was likely to be indulged, and a portrait of Mary commissioned for his benefit, to showcase the beauty of his future bride.

Katherine's smile at this was a thin one. Anne's reasoning for why Mary should come to court made a great deal of sense, and Henry was likely to respond to her suggestion if she could point out the advantages of having Mary at court, but the reminder of how quickly her child was growing up was a painful one for her. Mary was in her teens now, a young woman rather than a child, and she was certainly too old to be left at the nursery palace at Hatfield with her two year old half-brother, hidden away in the country in the company of her governess and tutor.

She should be at the heart of her father's court, being shown off to visiting dignitaries and learning from her mother all the things she would need to know when she was married and would need to preside over her own household at the French court when she became the Duchess of Orleans by marriage, instead of having Lady Salisbury to oversee it on her behalf as she had in her childhood, and Katherine would be delighted if Anne could convince Henry to bring Mary to live at court, as she ought to, but even Anne did not have the power to give them back the wasted years.

For two years, she had been forced apart from her child, and completely unnecessarily.

There was no reason why Mary could not have remained at court, even if Henry deemed it best to send Arthur to live in the countryside, for fear of contagions at court, unwilling to take chances with the health of the legitimate son he had waited so long for, and Katherine wasn't sure that she would ever be able to forgive her husband for keeping Mary away from her, especially when he knew how limited their time together would be, before they were obliged to part by Mary's marriage. Arthur was the Prince of Wales, and would stay in England throughout his life, but Mary was to leave her home country to be married to the Duke of Orleans, and once she left for France, it would be a long time before she returned, if she ever did.

Katherine had not set foot in Spain since she came to England as Arthur's bride.

Henry had known this yet he had deliberately deprived her of Mary's company, first when he commanded that she should live at Ludlow Palace – and at least then, Katherine could take consolation from the fact that Mary was at least being publicly recognized as heiress to the throne – and later when he sent her to share Arthur's household at Hatfield, unwilling to allow Katherine to continue to enjoy Mary's company when Anne was being deprived of Arthur's.

How could she forgive that?

She could hear herself telling Anne a little of what Mary was doing, describing Mary's progress in music and dance, and Anne probably said something in response but Katherine's mind was miles away, at Hatfield, where her daughter was growing up without her, and it was a relief to her when there was a knock on her door and one of her ladies sprang to her feet to answer it.

"Your Majesties, His Excellency the Imperial ambassador is here."

The gentleman ushered into the room was already known to Katherine, as he was one of the envoys who had come to England to make preparations for the Emperor's visit, what seemed like a lifetime ago, at a time when Katherine was hopeful for the future, despite her knowledge that Lady Blount had borne Henry a son, the thing that Katherine had prayed for since her marriage.

Back then, she eagerly anticipated the day when she would be able to call the Emperor her son rather than her nephew, and was delighted to think that, through her daughter and her nephew, England and Spain would be united by an indissoluble tie, something she was certain her beloved mother would have approved of wholeheartedly, and that would be beyond even the expectations of Isabella of Castile when she sent her youngest child to be Princess of Wales. After the Emperor's visit, Mendoza was appointed as ambassador to England and now that he was to resign his office and return to Spain, Katherine was pleased to see Eustace Chapuys arrive to take his place.

"Your Majesties." Chapuys swept a low bow to them but Katherine could see that when his gaze flickered in Anne's direction, his eyes became hard and cold at the sight of her.

She was sure that it could not have escaped Anne's notice, and the last thing she needed was for the younger woman to complain to Henry that the Imperial ambassador behaved disrespectfully towards her, something that Anne would be more than capable of doing if she felt sufficiently slighted and that would ensure that Henry's attitude towards Chapuys would be far from warm, a bad beginning under any circumstances, and that could lead him to opt for a French alliance instead, as the French ambassador made a point of cultivating Anne's good will.

She forced herself to smile pleasantly, making the introductions as though nothing was amiss, as though it was perfectly normal for a King to have two wives and for those wives to be on good terms with one another. "I don't believe that you have met the Princess Consort, Your Excellency." She said pleasantly, knowing that, even though Anne had taken part in the masque in honour of Chapuys and Mendoza when they first came to England, and even though she was present for the Emperor's visit, Chapuys was unlikely to have paid any attention to her. Why would he have seen any reason to notice Anne before? "This is Eustace Chapuys, the new Imperial ambassador." She told Anne, watching her incline her head slightly in acknowledgement.

"Your Majesty." Once Katherine made the introduction, courtesy demanded that Chapuys should turn to Anne to bow to her, saying the appropriate things about it being an honour to meet her, no matter how little he meant the polite words he was speaking.

The silence that passed between them afterwards was an awkward one.

It was plain from Chapuys' expression and demeanour that he had expected to find Katherine alone when he called on her, and that he was regretting that he had not delayed his visit longer and made sure that she was alone, so that Anne would be safely out of the way when he came to pay his respects. He wouldn't want to speak freely in Anne's presence, especially if he brought a message from the Emperor that was better off not overheard, but Katherine could hardly ask or even hint that Anne should absent herself so that she could speak to Chapuys alone. Even if good manners did not forbid such a thing, and even if Anne did not mention the matter to Henry later on today, he was certain to hear of it when whichever of her ladies spied for Norfolk or Boleyn reported the matter to them, and they brought it to the King's ears.

Henry would be furious with her over her treatment of Anne and suspicious about what she had wanted to say to Chapuys that she could not say to him in Anne's presence.

She was pleasantly surprised when Anne took the initiative to resolve the situation. "Excuse me," she said, rising from her chair and gathering her list in one hand. "I'd like to give this to my chamberlain so that he can write to the ladies in question, to let them know of their appointment."

Katherine nodded in acknowledgement of Anne's words, waiting until the other woman had left the room before she gestured for Chapuys to take the vacated chair. "Your Excellency."

He bowed to her before he took a seat. "The Lady is not as pretty as I was led to believe." He remarked, his disapproval plain. "Strange that the King should have gone to such trouble for her."

Although she knew that he would have hoped to please her with his comments, Katherine frowned at Chapuys for this, remaining silent, unwilling to give his words any further acknowledgement. Even if none of her ladies were present, or if she could be entirely confident that none of them would ever breathe a word of it outside her quarters, she would not have encouraged such remarks in her presence, even from an ambassador sent by her nephew.

Chapuys seemed to understand that she didn't want to listen to unpleasant comments about Anne, so he contented himself with presenting his credentials to her, passing the thick, folded parchment over to her. "I have had the honour of being presented to His Majesty the King, but I wished to also come to pay my respects to Your Majesty, and to convey the Emperor's warmest greetings."

Katherine inclined her head regally. "Thank you, Your Excellency."

Chapuys leaned closer to her, lowering his voice a little before continuing. "The Emperor is concerned for your welfare, Your Majesty, and for that of the Princess Mary. He is very concerned that she should marry well, to a prince who is worthy of her and who will cherish and protect her."

"His Majesty has arranged that the Princess will marry the Duke of Orleans, the son of the King of France." Katherine said steadily, although she knew that Chapuys would be aware of this already, just as he would be aware of the fact that Henry never sought her opinion on any matter these days, even one as near to her heart as the future of her only living child. Even before he met Anne and desired to marry her, he was not prepared to listen to Katherine's misgivings over the prospect of giving their daughter to France, and even when Mary was betrothed to the Emperor, it was not because Henry heeded Katherine's desire to see her daughter marry a Spanish bridegroom and wanted to please her by arranging a match that he knew she would rejoice over but because Wolsey recommended it in order to seal a then-desired alliance.

"It is my understanding that the King of France has sought certain reassurances regarding the legitimacy and the status of Princess Mary before he will allow the marriage to take place," Chapuys told her quietly, feeling thankful that Mendoza had ensured that he had a spy placed within the King's Privy chamber, a groom who listened to the exchange between the King and the French ambassador and who made Chapuys aware of what they had discussed before he went to call on the Queen in her apartments, and present himself to her.

"Yes?" Katherine prompted, her heart sinking as she took in the expression on Chapuys' face. The gravity of his expression spoke as eloquently as words could but she didn't want to believe it.

"His Majesty would not give him the assurances he sought." Chapuys told her gently.

It took a great effort for Katherine to steady her voice but she managed it, stamping down her instinctive anger towards Henry for his refusal to say the words that would have ensured that King Francis could not claim that Mary's legitimacy was doubtful, and use that as a pretext to reject her as a bride for the Duke of Orleans – as though the second son of a Valois could count himself too grand for the only daughter of the King of England, the granddaughter of Isabella and Ferdinand!

"I am not surprised that the King would not entertain such an obscene request," she said, grasping for an explanation of Henry's refusal that made at least some sense to her, something that would allow her to hold onto the belief that Henry loved Mary and would want what was best for her, "when he knows, as I do, that there is no reason for anybody to dare to question the legitimacy of our daughter. He was right not to dignify such a request by pretending that there was a need for confirmation." She didn't want to look at Chapuys, didn't want to see sympathy on his face, sympathy that would be almost worse than scorn for her unwillingness to believe ill of Henry.

When he spoke to her, his voice was gentle. "Your Majesty, I promise you that the Emperor will do everything in his power for you and for Princess Mary, no matter what happens."

Katherine nodded automatically in response to his words, feeling tears prick her eyes at the thought that, despite everything Henry had already put her and Mary through, they might still have more to endure, that a time might come when the Emperor's protection was all that stood between them and the shame of being cast aside if Henry desired it.

"Thank you." She said softly.

* * *

**_22nd April 1532_ **

Henry stood still in his tent as two squires helped him into his new armour, buckling it tightly so that none of the plates protecting him from harm would loosen or fall at a crucial moment while also ensuring that he would be able to move comfortably – or as comfortably as one could move, when wearing a suit of heavy metal – in his armour. Protection was all well and good but he would not be able to acquit himself very well on the jousting field if he could not move.

Once he was fastened into his armour, he motioned for one of the squires to place his helmet on his head, drawing in a quick, involuntary breath at the weight of his helmet, which felt even heavier and more oppressive than usual. For a few moments, coloured spots swam in front of his eyes and he squeezed them shut, feeling relieved when they dissipated. Ready now, he strode out of the tent, the visor of his helmet raised so that the people watching could see their King's face, smiling at the sound of the appreciative cheers with which his arrival was greeted.

When he was a boy, his father had forbidden him to joust, as Arthur's death had left Henry as the only prince standing between the Tudor dynasty and its downfall, and the English people would never have accepted his sister, Margaret, as their Queen, not when there were noblemen of Plantagenet blood who would have been only too pleased to snatch the throne from her.

Henry the Seventh had known how important a healthy prince was for the survival of the Tudor dynasty and Henry hoped that his father knew that, despite his initial troubles and disappointments with Katherine, he and Anne had managed to secure the Tudor succession through their little Arthur, and through their coming child. His father would not need to worry that the realm he had built up since the days of the War of the Roses would descend into the civil war and anarchy that would inevitably have followed if Mary was the only heir they could point to.

In time, King Arthur the Second would be a great ruler for his country.

Even though the child Anne carried was the Duke of York rather than the Prince of Wales, Henry intended that his birth should be celebrated with feasting and jousting, as his older brother's was. Although he would be a second son, he would also be a Tudor prince and England had waited too long for its princes to allow the birth of one of them to go uncelebrated.

As he approached his horse, several courtiers hastened over, vying for the honour of being the one to help him to mount his horse, an honour that he beckoned Knivert over for. With the help of Knivert's strong hands cupped beneath one of his feet, Henry was able to launch himself into the saddle and, once mounted, he held the reins lightly in one hand and guided the horse in a slow trot around the tiltyard, holding the other hand aloft to wave to the people who had gathered to watch the royal court at their sport, awestruck by the finery of the ladies and those gentlemen who were not taking part today, as well as the gleaming armour worn by the men who were to joust, before riding across to the royal box, set high above the benches laid out for spectators, so that those within would have a fine view of the jousting.

The throne in the middle, the largest of them and the one he usually occupied on the days when he was not jousting himself, was empty but the thrones on either side were occupied, with Katherine on the right and Anne on the left, each of them flanked by her ladies. His sister, Margaret, was also present, with her four year old son, Edward, sitting by her side, watching the spectacle with wide eyes that spoke of his longing to be old enough to joust, as his father did.

Henry was sure that a boy who was not only Brandon's son but also his own nephew would be a fine athlete in time – perhaps, when their fathers grew too old to joust and quit the tiltyard to allow younger men to take their places, Edward would be able to ride against Arthur.

Brandon, against whom Henry was to ride first in the lists, had accepted his wife's favour and was riding down to his position, ready to start, but Henry would not joust without Anne's favour.

"My love." Henry said, smiling at Anne as she rose to her feet, stepping daintily down from the platform on which her throne was set and moving to the padded railing at the edge of the box. A blue silk ribbon, almost exactly the colour of her eyes, was tied around her wrist and, with a grace that made the ordinary movement seem like part of a dance, she untied it and held it out to him. He accepted in, bringing it to his lips to kiss it before handing it back to her so that she could tie it around the tip of his lance, for luck. "Thank you, sweetheart." He told her once she was finished, smiling as he saw her hand stray to her abdomen which, as yet, showed no sign of her condition.

It would not be long now before they could announce it publicly.

Most people applauded the exchange and, if there were a few who grumbled under their breaths that he should be asking the Queen for her favour, not the Princess Consort, he could ignore them.

Although the day was not particularly warm for April, Henry was already sweating in his armour and he was sure that if he looked in a mirror, he would see that his cheeks and brow were glowing red with heat. His throat was dry, even after he swallowed, and he reminded himself to call for a mug of ale as soon as he was finished jousting with Brandon.

His vision swam as he rode to his starting point, gripping his lance tightly in a hand that sweated so much that he was half-afraid that he would drop it. He thought that he might have a slight fever, maybe the beginning of a cold. Perhaps, when he and Brandon finished their match, he would finish for the day and, instead of continuing to joust, have his squires remove his armour so that he could join Anne in the royal box and content himself with watching the rest of the sport.

"His Majesty the King challenges the Duke of Suffolk!" The gentleman acting as umpire announced in a loud, clear voice, his words greeted with a smattering of applause.

Henry swayed slightly in his saddle and gripped the reins tighter, his horse whinnying in protest. Although he knew that Brandon was no more than a hundred yards or so away from him, the other man seemed very blurred, as though he was looking at him from a much longer distance. He kicked his horse lightly to let him know that he was to charge but, as the horse lurched forward, the reins fell from Henry's slack grasp and his head spun as he tumbled off his horse, landing with a heavy thud on the sand. He was shivering and sweating at the same time, and his vision was blurred as he saw people running towards him.

His eyelids felt as heavy as the armour he wore and he could keep them open for only a moment more before he closed them, the noise and activity around him fading into silence and darkness.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**_22nd April 1532_ **

Anne was on her feet as soon as she saw her husband fall, dashing down the shallow flight of steps from the royal box to the ground so fast that she almost tripped, her usual grace deserting her in her panic. A crowd had already begun to gather around Henry's prone form, obscuring her view, but as she ran towards him, courtiers stepped back to allow her to pass, recognizing that she had far more of a right to be by his side than they did, and deferring to that right. She could see that her father was already kneeling by Henry's side, an anxious expression on his face, and her fear made her heart beat faster, as she imagined the worst scenarios possible, her mind conjuring up explanations for Henry's condition that filled her with terror.

What would she do if she lost her husband?

She didn't know how she would cope without Henry there to love her, how she would care for Arthur and guard his inheritance without Henry there to help her.

She needed to have him by her side, and their young son needed his father.

Before she could reach Henry's side, her movements were halted when somebody caught her by the back of her gown, stopping her in her tracks so abruptly that she nearly fell. She turned to berate the person who had dared to lay hands on her, the Princess Consort and mother of the Prince of Wales, only to turn to see Katherine standing behind her, keeping a tight grip of a fistful of the silk of her skirt. "Let go of me!" Anne demanded angrily, furious that Katherine should try to keep her from Henry's side. She had never imagined that Katherine would try to come between them at a time like this and she was furious with the other woman for trying to do so. Since she and Katherine had reached an understanding that allowed them to coexist peacefully under the same roof, she had made an effort to behave politely towards the other woman and, at the back of her mind, Anne knew that she was being rude, but she didn't care right now.

"Not until you calm down." Katherine countered, shifting her grip from Anne's skirt to her arm, so that it would not be as apparent to anybody who happened to glance their way that she was restraining the younger woman. Although she managed to keep her voice calm and even, she too was fearful and part of her wanted nothing more than to run to Henry's side, so that she could see for herself how the husband she loved was. She knew that she could not do that, however, and Anne certainly could not. "He may be ill – he probably is." She pointed out to Anne in a low voice, watching as the crowds around Henry parted to allow Dr Linacre and two other physicians to pass. The three physicians were all but shoved to the front of the crowd, and to Henry's side. "If he is, he might have an illness that he could pass to you. He wouldn't want that." She said, glancing at Anne's stomach and knowing that she would understand her meaning.

Although no announcement had been made of Anne's condition – it was likely that they had wished to wait until the baby quickened and Anne's condition was certain before they said anything publicly, in case she was mistaken – Katherine had learned of it through the whispered gossip of her ladies. If she was pregnant, it was essential to keep her from Henry, as an illness could make her miscarry. Since Henry was not injured, his collapse was probably due to illness and, if that was the case, he would be furious if he recovered only to find that his child was lost.

Anne might escape his wrath, especially since he was likely to be touched by her concern for him, but others, people he believed should have kept her safe from illness, would not be so fortunate, and he would demand to know why they had not managed to safeguard his wife and child, especially when his illness made the safe birth of a Duke of York even more desirable.

They didn't deserve to face Henry's anger because of Anne's lack of self-control.

Anne stopped struggling to be free, recognizing that Katherine was right, but she didn't pull her arm away, even when Katherine relaxed her grasp. They stood together, watching from a distance as, at Linacre's direction, the other two physicians removed Henry's helmet as carefully and as gently as they could, to allow Linacre to examine him. Neither of them failed to notice the sombre expression on the faces of the three physicians as they examined his brow, checking his temperature, before gently prying his mouth open to examine his mouth and tongue.

"He was fine last night, and this morning." Anne said quietly, combing her memory and trying to remember if Henry had displayed any signs of feeling unwell.

He had fussed over her when they had their breakfast, encouraging her to eat well so that their son could grow strong and healthy, but she couldn't remember him taking anything himself, and he was quieter than usual. She tried to remember if he was pale when they sat down to breakfast, or if his skin was hotter than usual when he touched her, any sign that he was sick.

Should she have tried to keep him from jousting, encouraging him to stay indoors with her for the day, so that he could rest? If she had asked, hinting that the excitement of the joust would be too much for her and that she wanted him to stay inside with her, to keep her company, he would have agreed, for her sake, and if he wasn't feeling well, he might have been glad of the excuse to absent himself from the tiltyard without having to admit to not feeling up to jousting today.

If she had paid more attention to his condition, instead of letting him coddle her and quiz her about how she was feeling, might she have seen signs of his illness, something that would have allowed her to see what was wrong earlier, so that she could get help for him?

What if he died because she had not seen what was happening, and done something about it?

"Henry does not like people to know when he is feeling unwell." Katherine said gently, guessing what Anne was thinking and suspecting that, even if Henry had felt ill this morning, Anne would be the last person to whom he would confide his symptoms. For Anne, he liked to appear invincible, strong and healthy and virile. He would never want her to know when he was ill, not if he could keep it from her. It had been the same during the first years of her marriage to Henry, when he prided himself on being her true knight, her devoted champion. He would never have wanted her to know that her Sir Loyal Heart was subject to illness, as any man was, and never attempted to seek sympathy from her when he had a headache or any other ailment. He wanted to believe that his strong constitution would shield him from sickness, that God guarded him.

If Henry had wanted to keep Anne from realizing that he was unwell, he would be able to put on a very convincing performance, one that would fool most people… though not Katherine.

She knew Henry better than Anne did, she was certain of that.

Henry might have shunned her company in favour of Anne's for the past few years but, before Anne entered his life, Katherine was there. Anne only knew the King but Katherine could remember the second son, the young Duke of York who was destined for a career in the Church so that he would never have the chance to father a princely line to rival his brother's, the young boy who had envied his brother's place as heir to the throne, secretly convinced that he was worthier of the Crown, though he could not say so aloud, for fear of angering his father and grandmother.

Anne was little more than a baby, scarcely old enough to toddle her first steps and lisp her first words when Henry, then a boy of eleven, greeted Katherine upon her arrival in England and escorted her to her wedding to Arthur, later dancing with her when Arthur, who was not a confident dancer, begged off. While Anne grew from a toddler to a little girl at Hever Castle, before joining the court of the Archduchess Margaret, Henry and Katherine were betrothed, something he delighted in, already worshipping his future bride and eagerly anticipating their wedding day.

Even before they were married, she knew him well. His father may have done all he could to keep them apart, as he knew that, despite giving his word of honour that he would allow Katherine to marry his surviving son, so that she might be Princess of Wales and Queen of England, as she was born to be, he did not intend to keep his promise and only wanted to keep her in England as a hostage for her father's good behaviour and so that he could obtain the large dowry payments he demanded before Katherine could leave his country, but Henry had evaded his restrictions, employing every ounce of cunning he possessed to ensure that his father was not able to keep him from communicating with his future bride, with whom he had quickly fallen in love.

It was not just that she was his brother's widow and Henry wanted to possess what was once Arthur's, she was sure of that. Despite the gulf in their ages, Henry admired her from the first and wanted her to be his bride long before his father first broached the idea of a marriage between them. He might tell himself that he was obliged to marry her for policy but that was not true.

He wanted her to be his wife even when he was a boy.

They exchanged letters, whenever they could manage to sneak them to one another, and whenever Katherine was permitted to come to court, Henry always paid a call to her.

When she lacked the money to dress as her station demanded or to provide for her servants he was still unfailingly polite and gracious to her, revering her as the princess he loved.

She couldn't help but think that, if she had seen Henry this morning, if he had stopped by her apartment to visit her, even if only for a few moments to bid her 'good morning', as was his custom in happier days, before things soured for them and he no longer wished to spend a moment longer in her company than he could help, she would have recognized from his demeanour that he was ill, and coaxed him into speaking to a physician, for her sake, even if he was adamant that he was in good health and wouldn't have summoned one of his own accord.

She would have found a way of keeping him from the tiltyard until she was satisfied that he was strong enough to joust, making him think that he was only staying indoors for her sake, to spare his pride. However, she knew that such thoughts would do nobody any good now, and she certainly was not about to voice them in Anne's hearing and upset her.

What mattered now was ensuring that Henry received the care he needed to get better.

When Thomas Boleyn finally left Henry's side to approach the King's wives, he barely gave Katherine a second glance, focusing his attention on his daughter and scrutinizing her face, noting her pallor and feeling worried about her. The last thing they needed was for Anne to be sick too, and she had spent the night with the King last night, as she did every night. He extended his hand to take Anne's drawing her a couple of paces closer to him, and away from Katherine before he began to speak to her. "His Majesty has a fever, a high one, and it caused his collapse." He explained, trying to strike a balance between telling Anne as much of the truth as she needed to know and keeping her from panicking out of fear for her husband's life.

"I want to see him." Anne said at once, even though she knew that, if Henry had a fever, a clear indication that his body was trying to purge itself of an infection, she would not be allowed to approach him until the physicians were satisfied that there was no risk that she would catch his sickness from him, putting her and her unborn child at risk. No matter how wary they might be of challenging her wishes under other circumstances, they would not allow her to risk infection, even if they had to physically prevent her from reaching Henry's side.

Her baby's life was too important to risk – and he would be even more important if he was fated to be a posthumous child, as he would be Arthur's heir until he married and fathered a child.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, sweetheart," her father said, patting her hand lightly. His voice was firm, brooking no argument. "Dr Linacre will need to examine His Majesty more closely before he knows what is wrong with him, exactly, but until then, we have no way of knowing whether or not his illness is contagious. Until then, we must assume that it is, at least where you are concerned. His Majesty will want to know that you are safe, and that his son is strong and well." He pointed out, glancing down at her stomach. They could take no risks with the future Duke of York.

"His Majesty should be moved to his bedchamber." Katherine said decisively, wishing that, for once, Boleyn could forget his determination to be rude to her. Unlike his daughter, he was unwilling to make even the slightest effort to make things easier, and he slighted her as often as he dared, covering his contempt with the thinnest veneer of outward respect and deference to her position. Under ordinary circumstances, she would turn a blind eye to it, knowing that it was pointless to complain to Henry of the behaviour of one of Anne's relatives, but this was an emergency and even if Boleyn could not recognize that, she did. Henry's health was far more important than the rivalry between his wives. "He will be more comfortable there, and..."

"I beg your pardon, madam," Boleyn interjected, his icy tone belying the outward politeness of his words, "but it is not your place to give that order, or any other."

"How dare you..." Katherine rarely gave in to anger, knowing that she could not allow her emotions to master her under any circumstances, least of all in front of her enemies, who would pounce on the slightest hint of weakness, but she felt furious now.

Boleyn was going too far. His daughter might be the Princess Consort, and his grandson might be Prince of Wales, but she was still the Queen of England, the King's first wife, and, as such, she had a right to expect that one of her husband's courtiers, even the Duke of Wiltshire, the man who would have been happy to see her marriage annulled and her child branded a bastard so that his daughter could be Queen while she was relegated to the role of Dowager Princess of Wales, should treat her with the respect to which she was entitled, regardless of how he viewed her.

"His Majesty is incapacitated, as you can see." Boleyn pointed out coldly, nodding in the direction of Henry's prone form. He put his arm around Anne's shoulders, though his gesture was more possessive than affectionate or supportive. "The King, in his wisdom, made provision for such a disaster before my grandson, Prince Arthur, was born, when the Act of Regency was drafted and approved by the Privy Council and by Parliament." He met Katherine's eyes, his expression triumphant, knowing that she would know where this train of thought would lead. "His Majesty nominated my daughter to act as Regent, should the need arise, so decisions about the King's care, or any other matter, are not yours to make. It is for my daughter to give the orders now."

Katherine exhaled sharply, cursing Henry's decision to leave the Regency in Anne's hands, ignoring her experience of Regency and the lessons in ruling she learned at her mother's knee and turning the country over to an inexperienced young woman for no other reason than that he adored her, and wanted to be sure that, if something happened to him, the mother of his son would not be excluded from power, even if the mother of his daughter was, and Boleyn's eagerness to insist that the provisions of the Act of Regency applied now, within minutes of Henry's collapse.

His eagerness to seize power did not bode well for the future, should his grandson become King.

Even if she appealed to the Privy Council, advocating that she, as Queen, should make decisions in Henry's stead until he recovered... if he recovered... Henry had seen to it that Anne's relatives, friends and supporters were heavily represented there, outnumbering the men who supported her and Mary, or who might be sympathetic. She would get little help from them, especially since even those who had qualms about the idea of the reins of power being placed in Anne's hands, whether for the duration of Henry's illness or, if he died, during the minority of the now two year old Arthur, would not dare to defy Henry's instructions for the Regency, for fear of his reaction when he found out. Anne's family would not willingly surrender any of the power they now wielded.

"Very well, Your Grace," she said, her tone curt. She turned her attention to Anne. "Have you any objection to Henry being moved to his own bed, or would you rather leave him lying in the sand?" When Anne shook her head, Katherine turned her attention to Boleyn. "Are you satisfied, Your Grace?" Boleyn glared but he could not object when Anne sanctioned her proposal so he had no choice except to issue the orders for a stretcher to be readied to carry Henry from the tiltyard back to the palace, and there were no shortage of courtiers ready to volunteer to carry him.

Once Henry was carried away, Boleyn steered his daughter away, hurrying her back to the palace and away from Katherine, as though he feared contamination.

Katherine was ready to follow them when she heard footsteps behind her, and turned to see who it was. She was glad to see More, knowing him to be her true friend and somebody who would be willing to do whatever he could to help her at a time like this when, if Thomas Boleyn had his way, she would be completely cut off from every decision concerning Henry's care... perhaps even every decision concerning the future of her own child, if the worst happened. When he offered her his arm, she took it, allowing him to walk her back to the palace. They said nothing, and she was glad that he did not try to speak to her. Her thoughts were entirely focused on Henry, as she prayed for his speedy recovery, frightened of what it would mean for her and Mary if he died.

* * *

"His Majesty is gravely ill, Your Majesty." Dr Linacre's voice was gentle and compassionate as he explained the situation to Anne. After he had seen to it that Henry was settled in his bed, and given instructions for his assistants to bleed the King and examine his urine, the better to understand what kind of foul humour was causing his illness, he was commanded to come to the Princess Consort's apartment, to make his report to her. She was plainly frightened, which worried him, as the child she carried was now doubly important, so he wanted to be able to reassure her but, at the same time, he could not understate the risks to the King's health. If he gave her the impression that his recovery was a certainty, and the King died, he might be accused of negligence, or even foul play, and pay with his life. "His fever is a high one, and when I examined him, I found a rash on his skin, and markings on his tongue."

"May I see him?" It was her first question, but she asked it in a manner that suggested that she already knew what the answer was likely to be, but still had to ask anyway.

"I must strongly caution Your Majesty not to come near His Majesty's apartment." Linacre responded at once. Because of her rank, he could not forbid her outright but he knew that she, and everybody else present, would understand that they would not be allowed to come near the King. "The risk of contagion is very great, and Your Majesty must be mindful of your own health." He couldn't allude to the child she carried before others, not when no announcement had been made of her condition – even though only her relatives and her ladies were present, and all of them were likely to know of it – but he saw her place a protective hand over her stomach at his words, signalling that she understood why it was so important for her to be careful. "I will ensure that Your Majesty and the Council are sent regular reports of His Majesty's condition, and I assure you that I will do everything in my power to help him." He promised.

"Thank you, Doctor." Her words were soft, and she couldn't summon a smile.

"Have you seen this sickness before?" The Duke of Wiltshire demanded. He stood behind his daughter's chair like a sentry, one hand laid on her shoulder.

"I have, Your Grace." Dr Linacre answered, glancing worriedly at the Princess Consort and taking in her pale, drawn face, half-wishing that he could have made his report to the Privy Council instead, and left it to them to decide how much or how little they wished to tell her. "There have been cases where those stricken with this sickness have survived, with proper care – and His Majesty is a strong man, and in excellent health, so Your Majesty should take heart from that," he added, so that the Princess Consort would know that there was cause for hope.

"But in other cases – most of them," Anne guessed bleakly, taking her answer from the way Linacre averted his eyes at her words, "it is fatal."

"I fear so, Your Majesty," Linacre admitted reluctantly. "But I must stress that Your Majesty should not give up hope. If any man can survive this, it is the King." He waited for her to say something in response, either to ask him more questions about her husband's condition, or to dismiss him so that he could return to the King's side, but she was beyond speech, staring at him but not seeing him. Shock, he diagnosed silently, making a note to send one of the other royal physicians to her, to ensure that she did not become ill herself. It was a relief to him when the Duke of Wiltshire nodded to the Duke of Norfolk, signalling that the man should usher Linacre out of the room, and he bowed low to the Princess Consort before he exited her apartment, feeling pity for her.

It would be difficult enough for a woman to know that her much loved husband was seriously ill but when that husband was King, and his wife was carrying his child, there was far more at stake than there would be with an ordinary man. The fate of the country rested on the King's health, and if he perished of this sickness, his heir was a toddler of just two years, too young to rule alone.

Linacre inwardly prayed to God to grant the King a speedy recovery, and a long, healthy life.

England was not ready to lose him, not yet.

Once they were outside the Princess Consort's apartments, the Duke of Norfolk did not immediately dismiss Linacre, so that he might return to the King. Instead, he conducted him into another room, an unoccupied room, and motioned for him to sit down. "I don't know if you are aware of this, Doctor, but His Majesty made provision in law for a time like this," he began. "Before the Prince of Wales was born, the King directed that, should he die, or should anything happen to him that would keep him from ruling, the Princess Consort should act as Regent."

"I have heard that, Your Grace."

"Good. The Privy Council will meet shortly, and when we do, we will confirm the Princess Consort's Regency, until such a time as His Majesty recovers, which we all pray he will soon." He added, bowing his head devoutly. "Under the circumstances, as Her Majesty the Princess Consort is in a delicate condition herself, and in need of peace and rest, her father and I want to make sure that she is not overburdened by cares – we do not want to risk harm to the Duke of York, after all – so we will endeavour to shoulder as much of her burden as we may, and spare her the worst of her troubles. You will make your reports to me and to the Duke of Wiltshire first, do you understand? We will see to it that Her Majesty is told as much as she needs to know."

"Yes, Your Grace." He could not argue with one of the highest-ranking peers in the country, and one of the most influential men at court, even if he wanted to, especially since Norfolk would be even more powerful while his niece acted as Regent, but Linacre thought that this might be the wisest thing, for all concerned. The Princess Consort would not be left in ignorance but, at the same time, her father and uncle – men who knew her well and who would be better able to judge how much they could tell her without risking undue distress than he was – would guard her against the worst tidings, until she was strong enough to be able to cope with them.

He was not sorry to be spared the task of having to speak to her about the King's health.

"Good." Norfolk said approvingly. "There is one more thing, however. I am sure that Queen Katherine is praying for the King's recovery." He remarked, knowing Katherine well enough to be sure that, in a time of crisis, she would turn to God, beseeching Him to spare the King. In all likelihood, she would spend the days and weeks of the King's illness fasting as well as praying, perhaps even wearing a hairshirt in the hope that her suffering would make God look more favourably on her prayers, but at least it would keep her out of their way. "There is no need for you to disturb her to make a report on His Majesty's condition. The Privy Council will ensure that she is kept apprised of all she needs to know. You need not trouble yourself."

Although it was couched as a suggestion, Linacre did not mistake the tone of command in Norfolk's voice, and he bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the order. "Yes, Your Grace."

Once he dismissed Linacre, sending the man back to tend to the King, Norfolk returned to his niece's apartment, nodding at his brother-in-law to let him know that Linacre was taken care of.

He and Boleyn had deemed it best to ensure that the physician reported to them, not to Katherine, or to those who might cling to their loyalty to her, at Anne's expense, and Norfolk was satisfied that Linacre would obey him, even if he respected Katherine. He would not dare to disobey. If the King lived, those who slighted Anne during his illness would pay for it, as he would not allow anybody to insult his wife without redress, and if he died, Arthur would be King and Anne would become Princess Regent, making her family the de facto rulers of England.

Everybody would be clamouring to seek favour with the Boleyns and Howards.

Nobody would dare to risk their wrath.

Anne was on her feet now, pacing, twisting one of her hands in the other, her movements quick and nervous. "The children." She was saying, distractedly. "I should send a message to Hatfield, to let Lady Bryan know to bring them to court. The King would want them here if..." She choked on a lump in her throat before she could finish voicing her thought. If Henry was dying, then his children should be at court, so that they would be there to say 'goodbye' to their father, even if fear of contagion meant that they could only see him from a distance. She knew that he would want to see Arthur and Mary, and that it would comfort him to know that his children were safe, and would be safe, no matter what happened to him, but the thought of his death was painful.

"I think that's a very sensible idea, Anne." Boleyn said in a soothing tone, before Norfolk could speak. "At a time like this, Arthur's place is with you, and the Prince of Wales should be at court." He studiously avoided mentioning Mary, and was relieved that, in her nervous state, Anne did not seem to notice his omission. "Why don't you write out an order, and George will take it to Hatfield?" He suggested, thinking that his son was one of the few men who could be trusted with an errand like this. He combed his mind for another name, thinking that somebody else should go with George, somebody trustworthy. "Is Sir Francis Bryan back at court?" He asked Norfolk. He did not know Bryan well, but he was the son of Lady Bryan, Arthur's governess and the half-sister of Anne's mother. He was family, and therefore had much to gain if Anne held power, which made him more trustworthy than most. When Norfolk nodded, he smiled. "Then he can accompany George, sweetheart," he told Anne, in his heartiest tone, "if that's alright with you."

"I'll ride there as fast as I can, and I'll have Arthur with you before you know it." George vowed.

"Yes." Anne nodded, managing a wan smile for her brother.

There were few people she trusted more than her beloved brother. He would lose no time in hastening to Hatfield, and he would be very careful of Arthur on the journey back, ensuring that, while they made good time, they did not travel so fast that her precious little boy might become ill or overtired. She sat down at her elaborately carved desk, accepting the quill and parchment her father passed to her, and wrote a short letter to Lady Bryan, letting her know that the King was ill and that, as Regent, she was commanding her to see to it that the Prince of Wales and Princess Mary were brought to court as soon as possible, informing her of the identities of the men who would conduct the party to London and instructing her to cooperate with them.

Lady Bryan would probably be pleased to see her son, despite the bleak circumstances. Since she spent her days at Hatfield with Arthur, she saw little of her son when Francis was at court.

Once she was finished writing the letter, she signed her name, and her father lifted it from the desk as soon as it was dry, folding it over and patting her shoulder lightly.

"I'll have this sealed, and George will ride out as soon as possible." He promised her. "In the meantime, you should rest for a while, sweetheart." He suggested solicitously. "There's nothing more that you can do for the moment, and you need to be careful to take care of yourself under the circumstances." Boleyn was no fool. If the King died, Arthur was his heir under the law and, if Anne's child was a son, the Duke of York would be his brother's heir until Arthur was old enough to marry and have children, which would not be for many years. If the child was a girl, Katherine's daughter would be heiress presumptive until Arthur had a child of his own, as there was no way that they would be able to disinherit Madam Mary in favour of Anne's daughter, and that did not suit him in the least. He would not be comfortable with only the life of a small boy standing between Mary and the throne, and Mary would certainly be no friend to the Boleyns if she ruled.

Between them, she and her mother would do everything in their power to strip them of the honours that the King had lavished on them, making it clear that they were not welcome at court.

Anne nodded, and her sister stepped forward to put her arm around her, and guide her towards her bedchamber, with a couple of her ladies following so that they could loosen the stays of her gown enough to allow her to rest. Boleyn, Norfolk and George left as soon as Anne retired.

When George followed his father to the King's study, where his seal was kept, he expected his father to seal Anne's letter and hand it to him, warning him to find Francis Bryan and ride to Hatfield as soon as possible, losing no time in returning to Whitehall Palace with the royal children in tow. He was surprised to see that, instead of simply sealing the folded letter, his father unfolded the letter first, dipping a quill in ink and neatly crossing out part of the message before folding it again, dripping wax on the seam and then sealing it with the King's seal.

"I doubt that anybody will bother demanding to see Anne's brother's papers, they wouldn't dare." He said briskly. "But if they do, tell them that your sister changed her mind after writing the letter, and that it is her pleasure that Madam Mary should remain at Hatfield until further notice."

"But..."

"The last thing we want is to have that wretched girl here." Boleyn said sharply. He had decided against arguing with Anne over the question of whether or not Mary should also be brought to court – for all he knew, his daughter would insist that the girl should come, either out of a sentimental desire to make sure that she was on hand, should the King ask for her, or else because she preferred to cultivate friendly relations with Katherine and did not want to openly antagonize the woman by refusing to allow her daughter to come to court, and if she insisted, he would be unable to thwart her without upsetting her, maybe causing a miscarriage – but he was determined that Mary would not come to London until he was ready for her to come. "Do you think that her mother has forgotten about wanting her daughter to be Queen of England? Or that the Emperor wouldn't prefer to have Madam Mary on the throne than Prince Arthur, the rightful heir?"

"No." George agreed, knowing that his father was right about that.

"If the King dies, then there will be people who do not want to see Arthur as King and Anne as his Regent, especially when he is so many years away from his majority. He's two years old, George, while his sister is of an age to marry! We can't take the chance of a party forming around Katherine and her girl, not if we want to hold the throne for Anne and Arthur. If the King dies, then once Arthur is established as King, Mary may come to court, where we can keep an eye on her."

Once court mourning was over, Katherine could be sent into retirement in the country, as Dowager Queen, supplied with a household and an income so that she could not allege that she was ill-tended or impoverished, and if they ensured that Mary remained at court, as a hostage for her mother's good behaviour, they were unlikely to have trouble, not from Katherine, at any rate.

If there was a risk of a party forming to raise Mary to the throne, supplanting Arthur, the girl would have to be disposed of, but as a last resort. The people loved her, and if there was a whisper of foul play, it would rebound on the Boleyns and could be used as a pretext to deprive them of the Regency and of custody of Arthur, if not to behead them for treason. It would be much better for them to keep Mary at court, in her capacity as the King's sister, until Arthur was firmly established as King, and formally accepted as such by the other monarchs of Europe, preferably betrothed to a daughter of the Emperor or the King of France. After that, they could find a husband for the girl, an English lord who could be trusted to be loyal to Anne and the Boleyns.

He was not willing to take the chance of making a royal match for Mary, for fear that if she married a prince, he might try to seize the throne in her name.

George nodded, seeing the wisdom of his father's strategy. He extended his hand for the letter. "The Queen won't like it when she realizes that her daughter isn't coming to court, and Madam Mary won't be pleased to be left behind," he warned his father, guessing that the young princess would be outraged when she was told that she was not to be permitted to come to court when her father was seriously ill and inwardly resolving to leave the task of dealing with her in Francis Bryan's hands, if she made a fuss. He would have scant patience for any nonsense from Mary, and he was unlikely to be overly tactful in his dealings with her, so Mary would know that she would get no sympathy from him. "Lady Salisbury will make a fuss about it too." The proud Plantagenet lady, whose devotion to her charge was well known, would take umbrage at the thought of a princess being barred from court, and George did not relish dealing with her.

Even if Lady Salisbury knew that she had to feign politeness in Anne's presence, according her the respect due to the King's wife, regardless of her personal opinion of her, George doubted that this would extend to Anne's family. Lady Salisbury would not pretend to respect him, even if he was the King's brother-in-law, and she would be very defensive of Mary's position.

"They can make all the fuss they like, it's not going to make any difference to them." Boleyn said bluntly. "If need be, I will send a company of soldiers to Hatfield, to keep them in their place."

"What about the King?" George pointed out, seeing a flaw in his father's heavy-handed strategy in dealing with the King's daughter. "If he recovers, he might be angry if he thinks that we kept his daughter from coming to court. He still cares for her, after all, and we don't want him getting defensive about her position." The King could take it into his head to bring Mary back to court instead of leaving her in the nursery household at Hatfield, and George knew that his father had good reason not to want the King to spend more time with Katherine's daughter than necessary. Worse still, it might prompt the King to give the French ambassador the written assurance he sought that Mary was legitimate, worthy of a French prince, so that he could see her married.

At the moment, with Mary at Hatfield, the King's attention was focused more on Arthur than on her, and on Anne rather than Katherine but that could change if Mary returned to court.

"The King will understand." Boleyn said, sounding more confident than he felt. "His Majesty would be the first to tell us that the most important thing is to secure Prince Arthur's rights. He would not want us to take any chances about that, even if that meant barring Madam Mary from court." If the King was angry, they could count on Anne to calm him, in any case. She was carrying his child, and the King would be careful not to upset her in her condition, so he would not punish her family, even if he objected to the fact that Mary was kept away from court.

Once Anne bore his second son, he would be more inclined to reward her kin than to punish them.

"I hope you're right." George said, still doubtful but knowing that his father's mind was made up.

"It's for the best. Now find Francis Bryan and get to Hatfield. I want the Prince at court."

* * *

Hatfield was a pleasant royal residence, though not as grand as Whitehall Palace, Hampton Court or York Place. It was far enough from London to ensure that its inhabitants would enjoy the cleaner air of the country, but not so far away that there would be any difficulty about visitors travelling from the court. All in all, it was an ideal setting for the royal nursery.

George and Francis Bryan rode from London to Hatfield in companionable silence for the most part, both of them focusing their energy on spurring their mounts so that they could cover the distance in the shortest time possible, which left them with little extra energy to spend on conversation. It was imperative that they reach Hatfield by late afternoon, at the latest, so that they could return with the Prince of Wales before nightfall. Francis had remarked before they set out that, if they arrived too late for them to be able to ensure that they would reach Whitehall Palace before it became too dark to travel, his mother would be quite capable of refusing to allow her precious charge to travel until the next morning if she deemed that best for the Prince.

Even a command from Anne who, as Regent, wielded much of the power of a King, would not be enough to get Lady Bryan to take risks with the safety of her charge.

A soldier carrying the royal standard rode ahead of them, to let the inhabitants of Hatfield know that visitors were approaching and that they should make ready to receive them, so when George and Francis rode into the courtyard, servants clad in the livery of the Prince of Wales awaited them, ready to conduct them inside, where the senior members of the Prince's household, headed by Lady Bryan, were ready to receive them, standing in a straight line, their livery and uniforms immaculate. Clearly, despite Arthur's youth, his household was kept in perfect order.

Lady Bryan's face, usually serious in repose, broke into a smile of welcome when she saw her son but she did not forget etiquette, despite her pleasure at this reunion, and greeted George first, as was right and proper, given his senior rank. "Lord Ormonde." She greeted him with a curtsey, in deference to his status as Earl of Ormonde, heir to the Duke of Wiltshire and brother-in-law to the King. "This is an unexpected honour, and a great pleasure." She smiled at him as he bowed in acknowledgement of her curtsey, before stepping forward to kiss her cheek. Of the three children of her late sister, Lady Elizabeth Boleyn, born Elizabeth Howard, George was her favourite; Anne might be the most successful Boleyn, but George's mischievous charm reminded her of her son.

"I am glad to see you too, Aunt, although I wish it was under happier circumstances." Lady Bryan gave George a quizzical look at his words, wondering what he meant by that, but he did not elaborate straight away, opting instead to take a step back so that Lady Bryan could greet her son.

"How are you, Mama?" Francis asked, bending slightly so that he could kiss his mother's cheek.

"I am well, Francis." Lady Bryan assured him, kissing him before turning her attention back to George. "His Highness the Prince of Wales is in excellent health, my lord." She said, thinking that he had come to make enquiries about the little boy's welfare on Anne's behalf – though she could not think why her niece would not come herself; she was always so eager to see her little son, whenever she could snatch the time to pay him a visit, and no announcement had been made of a pregnancy that would oblige her to refrain from travelling until she was safely delivered of the new prince or princess. She wasn't sure whether she should ask why George was here now, with Francis in tow, or if she should wait for him to be the one to say something.

Fortunately, he spared her the need to ask the question, raising his voice so that the assembled household could hear him. "I am sorry to have to be the one to tell you but His Majesty the King was taken ill today." He announced, waiting for the gasps of astonishment and dismay to die down before he continued. "His physician believes that it is serious, so I ask you all to pray for him."

Lady Salisbury hastened forward, with those in her path quickly stepping back to let the stately countess pass. George nodded acknowledgement of her but he did not bow and, while Lady Salisbury might have felt indignant over this under other circumstances, as she was usually treated with nothing but respect by courtiers, who remembered the royal blood that flowed in her veins, she did not remark on it now. She had come to expect rudeness from the relatives of the Princess Consort. "You must come and speak with Princess Mary right away, my lord." She told George, seeing him stiffen at her commanding tone. "She will want to speak to you at once, so that you may tell her all you know about the condition of the King, her father."

"We will be pleased to speak to your charge later, madam." Francis said, his tone cool. He had heard of the Pole family, who had survived the reign of Henry the Seventh, when the late King rid himself of all of those who possessed too much royal blood for his peace of mind, so that he need not fear that they or their descendents would seize the throne from the Tudors. He thought that the Poles would be wise to keep a low profile, rather than risking exciting the anger or the suspicion of the present King, who might decide that they were a threat to his young son's rule, but it seemed as though they took great pride in their royal lineage and Lady Salisbury's bearing indicated that she was a woman accustomed to deference. "But we must first pay our respects to Prince Arthur, the Prince of Wales. Then, we will speak to Princess Mary."

Lady Salisbury did not look pleased at this pointed reminder that her beloved charge was of less importance than the toddler Prince, but she could not argue the point. Etiquette demanded that the little Prince should be the first royal child to whom any visitors paid their respects, and if they were not willing to bend the rules, even under the circumstances, she could not force them.

Both the King and the Princess Consort would be offended if they thought that she wished to slight Prince Arthur in any way, even though he was little more than a baby.

"Would you like to visit the nursery?" Lady Bryan asked.

"Yes, thank you, Lady Bryan." George gave his aunt another smile before addressing Lady Salisbury, giving in to a daring impulse. "Please be so good as to let Princess Mary know that we have come, and that we will be in the Prince's nursery, if she wishes to see us." He commanded, smirking inwardly at the way the governess bristled at the idea of Mary being brought to them, as though they had the authority to summon a Princess of England to their presence, instead of them visiting her in her apartment. There was no doubt in his mind that Mary would take umbrage at the summons, but he was confident that her concern for her father's health would lead her to come to the nursery rather than standing on her dignity and keeping to her own rooms until they came to call on her after paying a visit to little Arthur, as she would expect them to.

If Mary refused to come to the nursery to see him, he was prepared to leave Hatfield as soon as Arthur was dressed for the journey, without bothering to see Mary at all. He could claim that he was in too much of a hurry to bring Arthur to court, as he was commanded to, to pander to the pride of a spoiled girl who was unwilling to come to him, even for news of her sick father.

As soon as George entered the nursery, Arthur abandoned his hobbyhorse, which he had been riding up and down the length of the room, and dashed towards him, blond hair flying.

"Uncle George! Uncle George! Uncle George!" The two year old shouted, squealing in delight as George swept him up into his arms, tossing him in the airs and swinging him around. "Yay!" He cheered, clapping his chubby hands. "Again, Uncle George! Again!" He demanded.

To his dismay, instead of continuing the game, his uncle set him on his feet, kneeling to his level.

"Your Papa, the King, is feeling poorly, Your Highness." George told his nephew, choosing his words carefully to avoid frightening Arthur. "Your Mama wants you to come to stay with her."

"Does Papa's belly ache?" Arthur asked, rubbing his own plump belly at the memory of how sick he felt the last time he had a bellyache. He made a face, thinking of the dose his governess gave him to make him better, even though he didn't want to take her nasty-tasting medicine. It was nearly as bad as being sick. "Lady Bryan has med'cine but it tastes yucky!" He announced. If Lady Bryan gave some to Papa, he would be well again, but he would need to take a spoonful of honey afterwards, to take away the bad taste or it would stay in his mouth for a long time.

George smothered a laugh at this, ruffling Arthur's hair. "Doctor Linacre is at court, and he is taking care of your Papa. He has medicines of his own, so Lady Bryan can keep hers for you."

"Do Papa's medicines taste yucky too?"

"I don't think so."

"Can we swap?" Arthur asked hopefully, wondering why everybody found his question so funny. He thought that it was a very clever question, and he was a bit put out that people laughed at it.

"We'll see." George said, taking his nephew's hand in his. "Until then, do you want to come to court with me, to see your Mama? She wants to see you." Arthur nodded solemnly in response to his question. "Good boy." He glanced up at Lady Bryan. "We need to leave immediately, my lady, so could you have a few of the Prince's things packed? The rest can be sent for later."

"Of course, my lord." Lady Bryan agreed at once, hastening away to make arrangements for the packing. As she left the room, she almost collided with Princess Mary but the young girl took no notice of her, or of the curtsey she made to her, making a beeline for George.

"Lady Salisbury tells me that my father is ill." She began without preamble.

"Papa is poorly." Arthur confirmed solemnly. "So I'm going to court, to Mama."

"Of course." Mary said absently, knowing that, if her father was ill, his children's place was at court, close to him. She wanted to be with her mother, to comfort her in her time of worry and to join her in praying for her father's health, and Anne would probably want Arthur to be with her as well, even though Mary privately believed that her little brother was too young to be frightened by stories about their father being ill and should have been left in ignorance until he was better. She didn't want to think about what would happen if her father died, and her baby brother became King. She turned to Lady Salisbury. "Can you make arrangements for my things to be packed..."

"I beg your pardon, Princess Mary." George interjected. "But my orders are to bring the Prince to court, not you. You are to remain at Hatfield, until you are summoned to London."

"I am sure that even if the Princess was not named in your orders, the Council intended that she too should come to court." Lady Salisbury protested. In the rush of the moment, she could believe that the Council might have mistaken the wording of their message, giving the impression that they only wished for Prince Arthur to be brought to court, but she couldn't believe that they would want to leave Mary at Hatfield if the King was ill. Who would want to keep a daughter from her father's side at a time like this? "Her Majesty the Queen will wish to see the Princess."

"My instructions are very specific. Only the Prince is to come to court." George said, thinking that, technically, he was telling the truth; he was given instructions to bring Arthur back to court and leave Mary behind, just not by Anne. Lady Salisbury did not need to know that his father was the one to order that Mary should stay at Hatfield, and that Anne wanted her at court. If she knew, she would insist on Mary's inclusion in the party, whether he liked it or not. "As soon as the Prince's things are ready, he and Lady Bryan, together with his attendants, will travel to London. If your presence is required at court, Princess, a message will be sent." George bent down to lift Arthur up, smiling to reassure the little boy, who was watching his half-sister with a worried expression on his face. "Let's go and see if your things are ready, Your Highness." He swept out of the room with Arthur in his arms and Francis following, not giving Mary a backward glance.

"How dare he presume to speak so?" Lady Salisbury exclaimed as soon as George had left the room, her indignation startling her out of her usual calm and control. Never in her years as Mary's governess had she seen anybody dare to treat her charge with such casual disrespect and she bristled on Mary's behalf, angry that the King had honoured one family so much that one of their members believed that he could treat the Princess of England so rudely without consequences. Surely even the King would not condone such behaviour from the Boleyn family!

"He'll dare to do anything he likes." Mary said sullenly. "He's _her_ brother so he'll get away with it."

Of all the things that Anne had done to her since she bewitched her father into marrying her, this was the worst. If her father died, she would never forgive Anne for keeping her from his side.

* * *

The meeting with the Privy Council was fairly brief. Her father and uncle had already spoken to their fellow councillors, letting them know what Dr Linacre had said and securing their agreement that, in view of Henry's state of health, the provisions of the Act of Regency applied. Her presence was mostly a formality today, as there was no official business to transact apart from the councillors pledging to uphold her authority as Regent until such a time as Henry recovered from his illness… if he recovered… and to follow her commands as they would the King's.

In the coming days, perhaps weeks, depending on how long it was before Henry was well enough to resume his duties as King, there would be much more work to do, as the country would not stand still just because its monarch was ill. There would be ambassadors to speak to, petitioners to receive, and countless demands on her but she was determined to succeed.

She wouldn't let Henry down.

Anne was relieved to see that none of the Privy councillors disputed her right to be Regent or refused to pledge their support but she could see from the expression on More's face that, while he recognized her right to act as Regent under the law and would not dispute it, he would be much more comfortable following Katherine instead. She was shrewd enough to know that there were others on the Privy Council who would rather not answer to her and to anticipate that, if the worst came to the worst, they might not be as loyal to her as they should be.

While Henry lived, they would not challenge her authority for fear of reprisals when he recovered but if he died, would they be willing to accept her as their _de_ facto sovereign for sixteen years?

She suspected that she would have to rely on her father and uncle a great deal if she wanted to protect Arthur's throne and ensure that her son would not be snatched from her guardianship by those who wanted their child King in their custody and under their control… or, worse still, who wanted to ensure that he would share the fate of his great-uncles, the Princes in the Tower.

After the meeting, she went to the Chapel Royal to pray for Henry's recovery, accompanied by two of her ladies. Katherine was there too but they did not speak, or acknowledge one another except with slight nods. Katherine's rosary beads were moving quickly between her fingers as she recited her prayers, her gaze fixed on the ornate gold crucifix on the altar. Anne's stomach churned as she knelt at the pew she normally shared with Henry, her head spinning slightly. Her ladies had tried to coax her into eating something after the meeting but her stomach was too unsettled.

She didn't know how long she had been praying when she heard the sound of footsteps behind her and she turned to see Nan Saville approaching, dipping a curtsey to the Host on the altar before making a second curtsey to Anne, and then leaning forward to speak to her in a soft voice. "Your Majesty, your brother has returned from Hatfield, and he has the Prince with him."

Anne rose, hastening from the chapel with Nan hard on her heels. She could see George carrying Arthur in his arms but, as soon as he caught sight of her, her son immediately began to clamour to be set down and, once George obliged, Arthur dashed towards her as fast as his short, plump legs could carry him, his arms already outstretched to embrace her.

"Mama! Mama! Mama!" He called as he ran towards her, ignoring Lady Bryan's hissed reminders that this was not the way a Prince should behave around his mother.

When Anne caught her soon in her arms, lifting him up and holding him close to her, she was amazed to feel how heavy he was, certainly heavier than he was the last time she held him. She caught one plump hand in hers, pressing it to her lips to kiss it and smiling when Arthur squealed in glee as her lips tickled him. Despite her worry over Henry's health, she couldn't help but feel more cheerful now that she had Arthur with her. Her precious son was always able to brighten her life. "Hello, my darling boy." She greeted him. "How are you?"

"Well, Mama." He responded promptly before frowning, his small brow furrowing with concern. "But Uncle George said that Papa is ill. Poor Papa." His lower lip trembled a little but he didn't cry. He was a big boy now, and a Prince shouldn't cry like a little baby, no matter what.

"Yes, my darling," Anne said honestly, not wanting to lie to her child, even if he was still very young. "But we're all praying that he will get better. Will you pray for him?"

Arthur nodded solemnly. "I will, Mama." He vowed.

Anne's arms were beginning to ache bearing Arthur's solid weight so she set him down on the ground, holding his little hand in hers as she turned to thank George for bringing Arthur to her, and to Lady Bryan to ask him how her little boy was faring. Lady Bryan was assuring her that Arthur was well and healthy and making excellent progress when Anne realized that the only people present aside from her son, her brother and her father, who was just approaching, having undoubtedly been informed that his grandson had arrived, were members of Arthur's household.

None of Princess Mary's attendants were present, not even her governess, and the Princess herself was not present.

"Has Princess Mary gone to her apartment?" She asked George, wondering if Mary had opted to change her gown, or if she had gone to Katherine's apartment to greet her mother, not realizing that Katherine was at the chapel. George avoided her gaze, glancing towards her father but, before she could ask what was wrong, Arthur began to bounce excitedly, tugging her hand.

"The Tween is here!" He announced, spotting Katherine as she exited the chapel and waving to her with his free hand. "Hello, Tween!" He greeted Katherine cheerfully. Despite efforts to teach him the proper pronunciation, Arthur was not yet able to pronounce the word 'Queen' properly but, fortunately, Katherine found his name for her amusing. As Katherine approached them, Anne's father moved to stand beside her, resting one hand on her shoulder.

Katherine smiled. "Hello, Your Highness." She greeted him kindly, patting his head before looking up. "Where is Princess Mary?" She asked, glancing around in search of her daughter.

Boleyn squeezed Anne's shoulder gently, shaking his head briefly to tell her that she shouldn't say anything. "Your daughter is still at Hatfield, madam." He told her blandly, without offering any further explanation. He smiled slightly at the sight of Katherine's dismay but turned his attention to his daughter instead, not wanting her to demand to know why Mary was not brought to court when she gave instructions for both of the royal children to arrive. "If you have time, sweetheart, there are some matters that I need to speak to you about before tomorrow's meeting with the Privy Council." He told her, offering her his arm. George hastily stepped forward to scoop Arthur into his arms so that he could follow after them.

Anne allowed herself to be led away. She was angry that her instructions were not obeyed but, at the same time, she was not going to take her father to task in front of Katherine, let alone in front of Lady Bryan, the other members of Arthur's household, her attendants and Katherine's. She could not embarrass him by chiding him publicly, so she would ask him when they were alone.

She wanted answers but there was a time and a place for her to demand them.

Katherine's lips thinned as she watched Anne leave with her family, feeling closer to losing her temper than she had for as long as she could remember. She wanted to go after them, to demand to know what Anne and her family were thinking, leaving Mary at Hatfield when Henry was ill. Were they so determined to seize power that they would deny Mary the chance to see her father?

Not wanting to stay standing there, with attendants and, by now, several courtiers staring curiously at her, she retreated to her apartment. Shortly after she returned to her rooms, there was a knock on her door and, at her signal, Lady Anne Clifford moved to admit the visitor. Chapuys bowed deeply to her before approaching, kissing her extended hand.

"I have heard about what has happened, Your Majesty." He told her, feeling thankful that there were enough servants in the palace accepting bribes in exchange for spying for him to ensure that he was always kept apprised of what was happening. He knew that Princess Mary had been excluded from the party travelling from Hatfield as soon as they had arrived, and he did not need to investigate the matter to be able to guess who was responsible for her exclusion. "And I am sure that your nephew, the Emperor, will be outraged to hear of it."

Katherine sighed inwardly. Chapuys meant well but what could the Emperor do? She hoped that Henry would be recovered long before a letter could be sent to her nephew, informing him that his cousin was left at Hatfield while her father lay ill and, even if he was not better by then, she doubted that Anne or her family would pay much attention to a letter of complaint from the Emperor, assuming that he wrote one in the first place. He could easily decide that, despite his ties of kinship to her and to Mary, the matter was too trivial to justify him making a formal complaint, especially since he would be aware that, if Henry died, he would have to deal with Anne in her capacity as Regent, cultivating her good will for the sake of Anglo-Imperial relations.

"I don't understand how they can leave my daughter behind when they know that she will be worried about His Majesty's health." She remarked, easily able to imagine that Mary would be fretting about Henry, assuming the worst and terrified that she might lose her father without even having the chance to say 'goodbye' to him. How could anybody do that to a sensitive young girl?

She wished that she could believe that Henry would be angry when he recovered and learned of it but she knew that he was unlikely to speak a word of reproach to Anne.

"It is because they fear her, Your Majesty." Chapuys told her bluntly. "They know how much the people love Princess Mary, and how much they love you, and they see that love as a threat. They are afraid that, should His Majesty the King die, the people of England will rally to support the Princess as their new sovereign, and demand that you should be Regent for her."

For a moment, Katherine was too surprised to speak.

She had always known that Chapuys was loyal to her and to Mary but what he was proposing was treason. Arthur was Henry's legitimate child, just as he would have been if he was born to her rather than to Anne, and Anne was just as much Henry's wife as she was. The Holy Father had issued papal bulls to that effect so even those who did not like the idea of Henry taking a second wife and who disliked the idea of Mary being supplanted as her father's heir could not dispute that, as Henry's eldest legitimate son, Arthur was the rightful heir to the throne.

He might be younger than Mary, and he might boast a much less exalted bloodline, but English law dictated that male heirs took precedence over their sisters.

"Think about it, madam," Chapuys said, seeing from the expression on her face that she was ready to object to his words but wanting to ensure that she at least considered what he was saying before she made up her mind. "The Lady has wielded the power of Regent for less than a day, and she is already using that power to the detriment of your daughter. Should the King die, God forbid, and should her son be allowed to succeed him, she and her family will rule England and they will have the power to decide your daughter's future. Would you trust them with that power?"

She knew that she should reprove him for suggesting interfering with the succession, making it clear to him that she would never consent to such a thing and forbidding him to mention his suggestion to Mary but she couldn't help but think about what it might mean if Arthur became King, with Anne and her family ruling for him. She would have no power, even Mary's marriage would be for Anne to decide and, while she didn't think that Anne bore ill-will to Mary, she couldn't say the same for Anne's father or uncle, or dismiss the idea that they would be able to convince Anne that it was in her interests and Arthur's if, instead of seeking a royal match for Mary, a match worthy of her, they would marry her to an Englishman loyal to them.

"I would not trust the Lady and her family with the future of this country and of the Princess Mary, Your Majesty." Chapuys said gravely, taking advantage of her hesitation. "Neither should you."


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**_22nd April 1532_ **

This was not the first time that Anne had felt angry with the men in her family.

She still had not forgotten the day she first learned of the pope's concession to Henry and the dismay she felt when she realized that her father and uncle intended to see to it that she accepted the position of second wife without making a fuss, or the way that her uncle threatened her when she tried to protest their chosen course of action, with her father and brother failing to speak up in her defence and warn him not to raise a hand to her.

She couldn't convince herself that, if she insisted on refusing, her once-doting father would have intervened to keep her uncle from carrying out his threat to beat her until she gave in.

Would he have just stood there watching while Norfolk attacked her?

Could he have betrayed her like that?

With hindsight, she agreed that they were right that accepting the idea of marrying Henry when Katherine would also be able to call herself his wife was her best move, even if it was only a partial victory, even if she loathed the idea of having to share the man she loved with another woman.

Had she refused, then instead of being married to Henry these past three years, and being the mother of the sweetest, most adorable little boy she could ever have wished to bring into the world, with her position within the royal family and as England's future Queen guaranteed, she and Henry would probably still be awaiting a verdict on his case for an annulment, a verdict that could very easily have gone against him, given the power of Katherine's nephew, who was so determined to shield his aunt from the shame of having her marriage exposed as incestuous and unlawful and his young cousin and one-time betrothed from the taint of bastardy.

Neither of them had anticipated that the Emperor would be prepared to go to such lengths for the sake of the aunt he barely knew until they learned that his troops had sacked Rome.

Henry might have thought that the pope would see the justice of his cause when he first petitioned him for an annulment but now they knew that it would have been a mistake to place their trust in a corrupt pope, a man for whom justice would never matter as much as expediency. When presented with the petition, Clement had not confirmed that Henry had just cause for his doubts about the validity of his union with Katherine but, at the same time, he had not told him that his scruples about his marriage were needless, and that his marriage was legal and beyond question which, to Anne's mind, was proof that he was not worried about legalities or about theology, all he wanted was to find a way out of his problem without offending anybody if he could help it, something that seemed to be impossible under the circumstances, until he made his offer.

How could anybody be expected to put their faith in such a man?

As unpalatable as the compromise had been, it was the best option, as her father and uncle had known at the time, and with hindsight, she did not regret agreeing.

However, that did not mean that she did not resent the way they acted towards her at the time.

As angry and dismayed as she was over their actions then, it was nothing compared to her fury with them now.

It took all of her self-control to allow her to maintain an outwardly calm demeanour while she brought Arthur to the opulent apartment that served as his nursery at court, to turn him over to Lady Bryan's care, knowing that her son's governess would help him settle into his court apartment and keep him happily occupied until his mother could rejoin him, promising that she would see him later and that they would play then, and then she had to sit through a thankfully brief meeting with the Privy Council before she could escape to the privacy of her apartment.

She managed to keep her voice calm, even pleasant, when she asked her father, uncle and brother to see her in her presence chamber, and they knew better than to refuse her.

She did not want to embarrass them by rebuking them publicly for failing to carry out her orders, nor did she want to have the courtiers gossiping about a rift within the Princess Consort's family, and speculating about how they could turn the new development to their advantage, either by trying to win their way into her good graces or by capitalizing on conflict among her kin. No matter how angry she was, she could not forget that they were her family and would not expose them to public humiliation, so she would not take them to task when there were others within earshot. However, once they were in her presence chamber, with her ladies-in-waiting dismissed and nobody outside the family within earshot, she regarded them with an icy glare.

She sat down on a chair before the fire but she did not invite them to sit, opting to leave them standing in front of her, a gesture that she knew would irritate her proud uncle in particular.

"My orders were that Arthur _and_ the Princess Mary were both to come to court." She observed coldly. She knew that Mary's absence wasn't due to illness; to the best of her knowledge, Lady Salisbury had sent no messages to Henry and Katherine to let them know that their daughter was ill, and if Mary had come down with something suddenly, keeping her from accompanying Arthur back to court, George should have been able to say as much as soon as he and Arthur arrived, instead of standing silent, as though waiting for somebody else to speak up for him.

However much she loved her brother, she had to acknowledge that George was unlikely to defy their father and uncle, even for her sake. He would follow their lead.

Her uncle's brow was creased in a frown, his displeasure at her tone plain. Despite her inclusion in the royal family, she did not doubt that Norfolk still believed that, as head of the Howard family, he was owed respect and deference by everybody with a drop of Howard blood in their veins, particularly Anne and her siblings, children of a marriage that he had not approved of and children he believed should consider themselves fortunate that he deigned to take an interest in them and in their future prospects... at least until one of those children became useful to him.

Her brother avoided her gaze, and she wondered if she should have spoken to him alone first; with their father present, George would not say anything to her that their father did not want her to hear. Even if she tried to order him to tell her everything, amending and omitting nothing, the force of her royal command would carry considerably less weight with him than the prospect of their father's anger and their father's wishes would be the guiding force behind his actions.

She couldn't truly condemn him for it.

She suspected that she would feel the same way, if their positions were reversed.

Only her father remained calm, and when he looked at her, she could see that he was smiling faintly. "I asked George to leave Madam Mary..."

"Princess Mary." Anne cut him off before he could go any further, irritated by his choice of title for her stepdaughter. It was one that he had used in her hearing on occasion, and she could guess that he used it far more often in private, though he did not dare to use it in Henry's presence. His tone was derisive and malicious when he spoke of the young girl, and she didn't like to hear it. Mary might not make more than the barest effort to conceal her dislike for Anne but she was Henry's daughter and, as such, should be spoken of with respect.

She could see a flash of irritation cross her father's features at her interruption, before he masked those feelings with a pleasant smile, nodding once in acknowledgement of her correction. "Princess Mary, of course. Forgive me, sweetheart, I meant no offence." He said before continuing. "I thought that it would be best if Princess Mary remained at Hatfield while the Prince of Wales came to court, just in case the worst happened." Anne flinched involuntarily at the thought that Henry might die and her father was quick to press on. "Anne, the King is in good hands, and we are all praying for his recovery but you and I both know that it is possible that this will not be enough to save His Majesty. We can't pretend that the possibility does not exist."

"Which is why Princess Mary should be here," Anne pointed out. Henry did not often speak of Mary to her but she knew how much he loved her and, having seen Henry and his daughter interact, she knew that Mary all but worshipped her father. She would know of Henry's illness by now, and would be worried about him. It was cruel to keep her from coming to court. Even if she was not able to sit with Henry, for fear of contagion, she would be able to draw comfort from her mother's presence, at the very least. "The King would want her to be here."

Even if she hated Mary, she would want her at court for Henry's sake.

If he asked for Mary, how could they tell him that she had not been permitted to come to court?

How could they deny what might be one of his last requests?

"The King would want you to remember that, if the worst comes to the worst, your first priority should be securing his son's inheritance. He appointed you Regent, Anne. He entrusted the kingdom to your hands." Despite her father's obvious effort to speak gently and kindly, Anne could hear from his tone of voice that he did not agree with Henry's decision to appoint her Regent – though he had never dared to breathe a word of objection to him – and she bristled inwardly. "He trusts you to do what is best for your son and for the country. Are you going to betray his trust?" He asked sharply. "Do you want to fail him? If the King dies, then we will need to take every precaution to ensure that the throne passes smoothly to Arthur, and that means that we can't afford to have Katherine's daughter at court. We can't take any chances with the succession."

"Arthur is two years old, Anne." Norfolk spoke up, his voice authoritative. "And his brother is not yet born." He added, glancing down to the barely visible swell of her belly, inwardly praying that the child Anne carried was the Duke of York, as they all hoped, and therefore next in line for the throne. If it was a girl, then Mary would be her brother's heir for many years before they could expect Arthur to father a child of his own, a state of affairs he did not relish. If the King died, he would be much happier if there was an heir of Howard blood standing between Mary and the throne. Even if it did not diminish Katherine's ambitions for her daughter, another prince should bolster support for Anne's Regency, and her children's rightful claims to the throne. Norfolk could not imagine that any sensible man would willingly choose the rule of a female over that of a male. "Princess Mary is just a few years away from being old enough to rule, and she is already old enough to marry. The Emperor would like nothing more than to see her as Queen, you know that."

"If the King dies, then we will need to move quickly to ensure that Arthur is crowned King before Katherine can try to put her girl on the throne." Boleyn seconded his brother-in-law, making an effort to keep the frown from his face. If he could not issue orders to his daughter, and know that she would obey them, he had to try to reason with her and make her see that he knew best. Anne was stubborn, and had been from her infancy, so he knew that trying to command or threaten her would be counterproductive, but she was also highly intelligent and he could only hope that she was intelligent enough to recognize that his concerns were valid.

An England where Mary ruled as Queen, with Katherine guiding her daughter's every move, would not be a comfortable place for any Boleyn or Howard, least of all Anne herself.

They would be very lucky to keep the noble titles and the estates the King gifted them with when he first fell in love with Anne, and he could imagine that an excuse would be found to deprive them of at least some of them, for fear that the King had left them too powerful. It was what he would do in Katherine's place. He certainly would not take the risk of allowing a subject to retain the level of wealth and nobility that the King had bestowed on Anne before the wedding, not when it could give her or her descendents the power to cause trouble for the Crown, if they chose.

"Arthur is the heir to the throne. Even the Bishop of Rome accepts that." Anne argued.

This was a large part of the reason why they had consented to this arrangement, so that she and Henry could have children who would be the legitimate heirs to the throne. Henry had never said anything to her on the subject but she could imagine that his fears for his country's future when he was gone had helped lead him to accept an offer that would allow them to put a Prince of Wales in the royal nursery within a couple of years rather than waiting. The idea that, with Henry dead, her enemies would seize the opportunity to claim that she had never been Henry's wife and that their son was always a royal bastard, never a prince, was a galling, frightening one.

It couldn't happen... could it?

If the Emperor could use his power to cow the pope into denying Henry his annulment, who was to say that he could not use it to deprive Arthur of his rights?

"He accepts it now, when the King is alive and he knows that this is what the King wants, and that this is the only alternative to the King demanding that he be set free of Katherine so that you can be the King's sole wife and the Queen of England, as you ought to be." Boleyn countered. "But can he be trusted to uphold Arthur's rights when the King is no longer here to see to it that he does, and when the Emperor will be pressing him to go back on his word and say that you are not the King's wife and your son is nothing but a bastard?" If he stood in the Emperor's shoes, Boleyn knew that he would waste no time in undermining his cousin's young rival in every way possible, the better to ensure that England's next monarch would be loyal to Spain and indebted to him. If the pope was too much in awe of the Emperor to annul his aunt's marriage, Boleyn could easily believe that the Emperor would be able to get him to retroactively invalidate Anne's marriage instead. "We can't risk letting Princess Mary win support away from Arthur."

In ten years time, they would not need to worry about this, as Arthur would have won the hearts of the English people, who would not want to see him supplanted by his half-sister, however popular Katherine and her daughter might have been, but this was all happening far too soon and Boleyn was determined to make his daughter see how serious the situation was.

Without the King's support, they would be vulnerable to their enemies if they did not protect themselves.

Much as she might have liked to convince herself that her father was overreacting and there was nothing to worry about where the succession was concerned, if it came to that, Anne could not pretend that there was not a great deal of truth to her father and uncle's words. They had both spent longer at court than she had spent alive, and they were both shrewd men, men who would be unwilling to risk Arthur's inheritance, and George would follow their lead. However, it seemed to her that their zeal to ensure Arthur's succession had blinded them to certain things.

"If there is an uprising to make Princess Mary Queen, it will happen just as easily whether she is at Hatfield or at court. If people believe she should be their next ruler, they're not going to change their minds just because she's not in London." She pointed out.

If anything, it would be _easier_ for somebody who believed that Mary was Henry's rightful heir to abduct the young girl from Hatfield so that they could make her a figurehead for their cause than it would be if she was at court. At court, her movements could be watched, if necessary, and it would be possible to keep track of the people who visited her but the nursery household at Hatfield was a freer environment. Hatfield was well-guarded as a general rule but many of those guards would have accompanied Arthur to court, leaving his half-sister relatively undefended. Anne couldn't dismiss the possibility that Lady Salisbury might help her charge make contact with people who would support her as Queen. The governess had never liked the Boleyn family.

None of the three men spoke but she could tell by looking at his face that George could see the truth of her words.

"In any case," she continued, moving on to her next grievance, "even if you feel that Princess Mary is a threat to Arthur, it wasn't your place to decide to leave her at Hatfield."

"I did what I thought was best, Anne..." Her father began, his mouth tightening into a grimace and his tone becoming sharp.

"But it wasn't for you to decide what was best." She pointed out. "I'm Regent, not you."

Her father said it himself; Henry entrusted _her_ with the task of governing his kingdom when he was unable to do so. If he wanted to, he could have chosen Katherine or her father or her uncle or any of the nobles at court but he had not. He designated her as Regent during their son's minority, placing Arthur's inheritance and, more importantly, his welfare in her hands but he also entrusted Mary to her care, directing that she was to make provisions for her stepdaughter's household and even her future marriage should anything happen to him before he was able to see to it that Mary was happily settled. He trusted her to care for both of his children if something happened to him, not just their son, and she was not about to allow herself to be persuaded to forget her responsibility to Mary, no matter how good her father believed his intentions to be.

"Anne..."

"And did you consider that keeping Princess Mary away from court could lead to more people supporting her ahead of Arthur?" She asked, not giving her father a chance to remonstrate with her. "Did any of you stop to consider – even for a moment – what this will look like to the people? Her father is ill, and may die," her stomach churned as she spoke but she determinedly fought back her nausea. This was no time to be weak, least of all in front of them. If she didn't take advantage of this opportunity to make her position abundantly clear to her male relatives, it was inevitable that she would have to deal with this problem again and again until she finally made them understand. "And instead of being allowed to come to court, where she belongs, she's left in the countryside to wait for news. Do you _want_ the people to think that she's being mistreated?" She asked, colouring her words with a strong note of sarcasm.

She could imagine the way that the people, who loved Mary, would react if they knew of this and she could only hope that, if she acted quickly to rectify the situation, they wouldn't need to know.

This was a problem that she did not need, certainly not at a time like this.

She was not deluded enough to think that Arthur's birth or her own charity work had rendered her universally popular, and she certainly did not rival Katherine in the people's affections.

Once it became known that Henry was ill and she was acting as Regent, people would take more of an interest in her activities, wondering how she was using her power, and if she was called upon to wield that power on a more permanent basis, the countless men and women who loved Katherine and Mary would be watching carefully to see how they were being treated.

Far too many of them would expect her to misuse her power to make their lives a misery, if not worse, and she was not going to allow her father or her uncle to cajole her into proving them right.

"She has a point, Father." George seconded her, albeit half-heartedly, clearly unwilling to be more vehement in his support for fear of offending their father and uncle. "We can't afford to let people think that we're being cruel to Princess Mary. They'd jump to defend her. Katherine too." He added, knowing that his father would have a plan in mind for Katherine if he believed her to be a threat to their interests, either by trying to advance Mary as heir in Arthur's place or by winning the support of the nobility and commons in order to wrest the Regency from Anne.

Neither possibility could be discounted and, while it suited George to know that, thanks to his father's ambition, he could anticipate being one of the wealthiest and most powerful noblemen in the country one day, it was still disconcerting to think that his father could be willing to commit murder if he believed that it would serve his best interests but he was sure that he would be capable of doing so.

"It wouldn't take that fox, Chapuys, long to write to his master bearing tales." Norfolk allowed grudgingly, frowning deeply at his brother-in-law, his nephew and his niece in turn, irritated that neither he, Boleyn nor George had predicted the people's likely reaction to the idea of Mary's exile from court, and doubly irritated that Anne was the one to realize what they had not. His niece did not need any further encouragement to act without his guidance. "And I wouldn't put it past the Emperor to use it as an excuse to invade and make Mary Queen."

Her father said nothing but she could tell by the expression on his face that he too saw her point.

Anne turned to George, meeting her brother's abashed gaze. For a moment, she contemplated sending him back to Hatfield bearing her apologies to Mary, and asking that she come to court as soon as possible. She was ready to give the order but he guessed her intentions and his eyes pleaded with her not to charge him with this task. She couldn't tell if this was because he found the idea of returning to Hatfield and letting Mary know that he had overstepped his bounds last time humiliating or if he was worried that their father would give him a difficult time if he obeyed.

She suspected that it was the former but she couldn't dismiss the possibility that the latter might be his cause for concern and she didn't want to make more trouble for George with their father.

Once this was over, once Mary was at court and Henry was well, she wanted to put this behind them.

When she spoke, she addressed her father. "I am going to send Sir Francis back to Hatfield." She said, her tone making it clear that she was not going to be persuaded to change her mind. "He will bring Princess Mary my apologies and ask her to come to court. If he leaves now, he will be there before nightfall, and Princess Mary and her household will be able to set off in the morning." She doubted that Sir Francis would object to making a second journey, her cousin struck her as a man who would rather be active than idle at the now sombre court, but if he did object to the task, she could send somebody else in his place. It made little difference who delivered her message. All that mattered was that Mary was brought to court as soon as possible.

"If that is what you think is best, sweetheart, but..." Her father began.

"It is." Anne cut him off. She rose from her chair. "If you will excuse me, I need to rest for a while. It has been a difficult day." She said, touching her stomach lightly and deliberately drawing attention to her condition, knowing that, even if they wanted to argue with her, they would not dare to say anything to her if they thought that there was a risk that they would upset her and put the child she carried at risk.

It was her most effective method of silencing them.

"You should do that, sweetheart." Her father agreed at once, exchanging a look of concern with her uncle. "Shall I send your ladies in to tend to you?"

"Just Mary." She responded. If her ladies were told that she was tired, they would give her no peace until she slept but her sister wouldn't hover over her as much.

"As you wish, sweetheart." Her father said, inclining his head respectfully as he backed out of her apartment, Norfolk and George accompanying him without another word.

A couple of minutes after the men in her family departed, her sister entered the apartment, curtseying as soon as she crossed the threshold, waiting for Anne to gesture for her to rise before moving closer. "Mary, I want you to send a message to Sir Francis Bryan," Anne directed, "tell him that I want to see him at once. I have an errand for him."

* * *

As the Emperor's ambassador at the English court, one of Chapuys' chief duties was to see to it that his master was kept well-informed about everything of importance that transpired in England.

If the King of England was on bad terms with his Queen, the Emperor needed to be told, so that he could be ready to intercede, if necessary, in order to protect his aunt from the malice of the husband who had been so desperate to be rid of her just a few short years ago. If the King and Queen were on reasonably good terms, as they had seemed to be when Chapuys travelled to England with Mendoza to arrange an alliance between his master and the King, the Emperor needed to be told so that the Queen could act as his intermediary, helping to smooth any difficulties that he might be having with King Henry, who was a difficult man to deal with.

If the King seemed inclined to ally with France, and thereby threaten the Emperor's interests, the Emperor needed to be told so that he could renew his own friendship with the King or, failing that, to guard his interests to the best of his ability, so that King Henry could not threaten them.

There was never any question but that Chapuys would inform his master of the King's illness.

This was not news that should be kept from him a moment longer than absolutely necessary and he knew that the French ambassador would be writing his own letter at this very moment, with a messenger and a fast horse ready to carry it across the English Channel as soon as the ink was dry and the missive was sealed. It would reach its destination faster than Chapuys' letter would, allowing its recipient to decide how he would proceed from there.

Chapuys could do no less for his master but his task was more complicated than the one the French ambassador was charged with.

It was no secret that the Lady was a friend to France.

The King Francis would not believe that he had cause to fear, whether King Henry lived or died.

If he survived his illness, then he would be pleased to learn of the letters that King Francis was certain to send to the Lady, letters expressing his sympathy for her trials, his prayers for King Henry's health and speedy recovery, and his pledges of support to the Lady, vowing to stand her friend and ally, whatever might happen. King Francis was wily, and would be quick to seize the opportunity to ingratiate himself with his brother monarch through the Lady, relying on her to tell the King of his letters, encouraging him to ally with the monarch who treated her kingly.

If the King did not survive his illness, then his chosen heir was a little boy of just two years old, too young to rule by himself or to form his own opinions about matters of policy, and the Lady, his chosen Regent, would look to France, and perhaps even to the German Protestant states, for her allies, scorning Spain. King Francis would know that the Lady would never forgive the Emperor for upholding his aunt's cause, hating him for keeping her from calling herself England's Queen, and Chapuys did not relish the thought of her ever being in a position where she could exact her revenge for her thwarted ambition, especially when there was an alternative to allowing the Lady's son to rule, with his mother governing England through him.

Had the King fallen ill five years ago, Chapuys would have had no doubts about the country's future, or about the alliance between England and Spain.

Five years ago, Queen Katherine's place as the King's wife had been challenged by her husband, who was foolish enough to believe that he wished to be rid of one of the finest women God had ever made so that he might raise one of his subjects to the throne in her place, but the Lady did not yet wield power and Princess Mary was the King's only legitimate child and the rightful heir to the throne, even if he had wished to see his bastard, Fitzroy, usurp her place.

If the King had died then, Princess Mary would have become Queen and there would be few who would object. Even as a young child, she was popular with the people, who would welcome her as their new ruler. Queen Katherine would have acted as Regent for her daughter, teaching her to rule and to recognize that the Emperor was the truest friend that England would ever have, cautioning her to always be on her guard against the King of France and his superficial charm.

Now, thanks to the obstinate folly of the King of England, things could turn out very differently, and much less agreeably, unless Chapuys could prevent it.

There was no doubt in his mind that the Emperor was at least as aware as he was of how much better it would be for Spain – and for England too, he reminded himself firmly – if Princess Mary succeeded her father. However, he might not know that, despite Arthur's birth and his current status as the legal heir to the throne, there was still a great deal of support in the country for Queen Katherine and her daughter, support that they could capitalize on, if it proved necessary, and that would allow them, with the Emperor's backing, to put Princess Mary on the throne, where she belonged, and to set King Henry's folly to rights.

He dipped his quill in the ink well, carefully wiping away the excess ink before he began to write, pausing after he wrote his usual respectful greeting in a flowing hand, and then a few sentences describing the sudden onset of the King's illness, and repeating the symptoms as they were described to him by one of Dr Linacre's assistants, who was well paid for his information. It was not his place to issue instructions to the Emperor but, at the same time, he wanted to make his recommendations clear to him, even if he could not word them too strongly.

_The King's Privy Council have confirmed the Lady as Regent until such a time as His Majesty will be well enough to resume the government of the country,_

He frowned as he read back over the sentence, wishing that he did not have to report such news, wishing that it was not true. He would have preferred to be able to write that, despite the orders given by the infatuated King that his concubine was to rule if anything happened to keep him from doing so, the gentlemen of the Privy Council had refused to support the Lady when she attempted to claim the Regency, insisting that Queen Katherine was the only person who could fulfil such a role, a role that she had fulfilled before, enjoying considerable success. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Not one member of the Privy Council objected to Anne's Regency or hinted that it might be better for all concerned if she surrendered it to either the Queen or one of the great lords.

But perhaps it was understandable that they had not.

The King's case was far from hopeless, after all, and what man would want to openly challenge the Lady when she would run to the King with complaints about their treatment of her as soon as he was recovered, ensuring that they were severely punished for their failure to support her?

They might be prepared to tolerate her now, when they hoped that her Regency would be brief, but their feelings could change if the position was to be hers in the long term.

_but it is my belief that many of the lords are displeased to be subject to the Lady's rule, and that they would prefer that Queen Katherine governed in her stead. Queen Katherine is greatly beloved by the people of England, as is Princess Mary, and I am certain that there would be many who would rather see Princess Mary succeed her father than the Lady's son, and who would accept it if His Holiness the Pope declared that the boy is illegitimate, and no true heir to the throne._

_I have spoken with Queen Katherine on this matter, sharing my views with her._

He hesitated, quill poised above parchment, trying to decide if he should tell the Emperor of the Queen's reaction to his suggestion, but he decided against it. He knew that the decision to commit his resources to support his aunt and cousin in a quest to make Princess Mary Queen would not be an easy one for the Emperor to make, and he would be much less inclined to support such a quest if he believed that Queen Katherine did not support it.

Her present reservations were understandable; she was a devout woman and, as long as the pope appeased the King and said that the Lady was the his wife and that their son was legitimate, Queen Katherine would not dispute his right to rule but her view of the situation would undoubtedly change when the pope confirmed that young Arthur was a bastard.

Given time, Chapuys was certain that Queen Katherine would be glad of the Emperor's support.

She would want to see her daughter rule as Queen.

He closed his letter with a promise to keep the Emperor apprised of any further developments in the situation and, when he was finished, he unlocked a secret drawer in his chest, removing a small, folded piece of parchment on which his code for correspondence was laid out. Working quickly, he translated the letter into code, sealing it and burning the original letter before seeking his servant and charging him with the task of conveying it to a reliable messenger.

The letter would be in the Emperor's hands within a matter of days and, if God chose to call King Henry to Him, Princess Mary would be crowned Queen of England by midsummer.

* * *

**_23rd April 1532_ **

"I am certain that His Majesty will recover soon, Your Highness." Lady Salisbury said, repeating the assurances she had made many times since Lord Rochford rode away with the Prince of Wales, leaving her indignant charge behind. Since then, Mary had spent her time in the chapel, praying for her father's recovery, or in her apartment, pacing back and forth, as she was now, and muttering angrily against the Princess Consort and her family for their treatment of her. Her movements were quick and nervous and her face was pale, and Lady Salisbury worried that she might become ill herself if she was not calmed. "Once he is better, I am sure that he will send for you, so that you may come to court to see him."

"Of course he will send for me!" Mary snapped at her governess, too agitated to keep her tone polite. She did her best to ignore the nagging fear that her father might not bother to send for her when he was better, that he would ignore her and her mother and choose to spend his time with his other family instead, showing Arthur off to the people and going out with Anne on his arm, that he would let Anne get away with banishing his daughter to the countryside as soon as she had the power to forbid Mary to come to court, where she belonged.

She couldn't allow herself to contemplate the possibility that her father would side with Anne.

It often seemed that, in her father's eyes, Anne could do no wrong, so might he be willing to overlook or even condone her decision to leave her at Hatfield when he found out about it?

The only possibility that was worse was the thought that he might not recover.

For all she knew, her father might have died already, while she was miles away from him, unable to pray by his bedside or to speak to him when... if he asked to see her. Perhaps Anne and her family would want to keep the news of her father's death from her as long as they possibly could, keeping Hatfield isolated from the rest of the country and cut off from news of the court, so that they could cement their hold on power and ensure that Arthur was safely confirmed as King of England before they told her of her father's death and deigned to allow her to come to court.

They would fear her, would fear the love that the people had for her and for her mother, knowing that they did not yet love Arthur as much as they loved Mary, and that they would _never_ hold Anne in the same high esteem that they held Mary's mother, no matter how hard that woman tried to win the people's love away from their true Queen. She suspected that they would fear her mother more than they feared her, even if they did not dare to banish her from court. They had tried their best to rob her mother of her rights as Queen of England, tried to force her to pretend that she was not the King's lawful wife for Anne's sake, but they had failed and they knew it.

The English people would follow their Queen, not the Princess Consort.

What if the next message that came from court did not just inform her of the death of her father but also of the death of her mother... no, even the Boleyns would not dare to kill her so soon after the King's death, they would know that the people would never believe that it was anything other than murder, but they might decide to bide their time before they were rid of her.

Her mother was no longer as young as she used to be, or as healthy.

The thought of being left an orphan, robbed of both of her parents and dependent on Anne and her family for her future place in the world, was terrible enough to bring tears to her eyes and she choked on a sob before any sound could pass her lips. No matter what happened, she was a Princess of England and she would not let anybody make her cry, least of all that woman.

"You must try to remain calm, Your Highness." Lady Salisbury tried to soothe her, alarmed by her charge's agitation. "And you must not give up hope. The King is strong and healthy and he has the best physicians in the country at his disposal. They will do everything in their power to help him and, with God's help, he will recover. It is in God's hands now, and we must place our trust in Him." She added devoutly, crossing herself and watching Mary as the young girl strove to calm herself, clenching her hands into tight fists and taking deep breaths.

Like Mary, she was concerned about what the future would hold if the King died but she knew that she could not allow herself to fret about that. If she gave in to despair, she would be of no use to Mary, whom she loved as dearly as she loved her own children. For now, the best thing they could do was to pray for the King's swift recovery, so that there would no longer be a need to worry about who would rule as Regent during the little Prince's minority.

If the King lived, his love for his daughter would keep her safe.

If he did not... Lady Salisbury had never desired the throne, for herself or for her family, but she was mindful of the high esteem in which the Pole family was held by the nobility of England, and by the common people, who had not forgotten their origins.

Henry the Seventh had had her brother imprisoned, and King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella had feared him so much that he had had to be executed before they would allow their daughter to marry the late Prince Arthur, for fear that he might one day seize the throne that they regarded as the inheritance of their future grandson if he was permitted to live, even as a prisoner.

For Lady Salisbury, he had arranged a marriage to a gentleman loyal to him, a kinsman of his mother's, leaving her as a knight's wife, a humbler station in life than her birth would normally have dictated but that had the advantage of keeping her and her family safe, as they were not powerful enough to attract the late King's suspicion. It wasn't until his son's reign that the earldom of Salisbury was restored to the Poles. They were loyal to King Henry but they had royal blood flowing in their veins, and closer ties to the Plantagenet Kings than the Tudors did. If the King died and the Princess Consort and her family seemed willing to neglect or mistreat Mary, she would be prepared to use her influence to encourage others to speak out on the young girl's behalf.

As long as she lived, Princess Mary and Queen Katherine would always have a friend, one who would not fail to do everything in her power to help them.

She was about to try to persuade Mary to have something to eat, to help keep up her strength, when one of Mary's maids of honour entered the room, curtseying.

"Your Highness, Sir Francis Bryan asks for an audience with you." She reported, doing her best to hide her puzzlement at Bryan's return, so soon after he left.

Mary was puzzled too but she nodded, indicating that the visitor might be admitted.

If Bryan found his errand uncomfortable, he gave no sign of it. He swept a bow to Mary as soon as he entered the room, doffing his hat with a flourish, and he gave Lady Salisbury a respectful nod before addressing Mary. "Princess Mary, Her Majesty the Princess Consort has asked me to come to see you." He told her, watching as Mary's brow creased in a scowl at the mention of Anne before she recovered enough to conceal her emotions beneath a smooth mask. He was faintly amused to see it but he allowed no hint of amusement to show on his face. "Her Majesty apologizes for the misunderstanding yesterday," he said, certain that neither Mary nor her governess would believe that it had simply been a misunderstanding. "It was never her intention that you should remain at Hatfield when the Prince came to court and she asks that you come to court as soon as it is convenient for you to travel. I am to escort you, with your permission."

Mary thought that it would have served Anne right if she sent Bryan back to London with a message refusing Anne's invitation and letting her know, in no uncertain terms, that since she had not seen fit to invite Mary the first time, Mary was not minded to oblige her now, but she thought better of it before she could voice her refusal. It was more important for her to get to court, where she could see her father and be there to comfort her mother, than it was for her to show Anne what she thought of her, so she contented herself with a nod.

"I am glad that this _misunderstanding_ was rectified, Sir Francis." She said coolly. "I am certain that you understand that I was shocked and dismayed to think that I would be forbidden to come to court, particularly when the King, my father, is ill." She glanced at the ornate clock on the mantel and sighed quietly, knowing that, by the time her trunk was packed and she was dressed for the journey, it would be too late for Lady Salisbury to allow her to set off. They would have to wait until morning. "We will travel early tomorrow morning," she said, her tone making it clear to him that their meeting was at an end. "I will give orders that a room be readied for you for tonight. Will you take supper in your room, or in the Hall?" She asked courteously.

Sir Francis Bryan had never been a man to hide away, and he could guess that Mary expected him to choose to eat privately rather than in the company of her household, so he opted to do the opposite, smiling as though he was at comfortable at Hatfield as he would have been at his own home. "I will eat in the Hall, with your permission, Your Highness." He said cheerfully.

Mary was irritated, knowing that courtesy would demand that, as a knight and a guest, Bryan should be seated at the table with her, obliging her to act as a gracious hostess, even though she had no desire to spend time in his company. He was Lady Bryan's son and, as such, kin to Anne. "I will see you at supper, Sir Francis." She said, watching him bow and walk out of the room. She waited a few moments, until estimated that he would be safely out of earshot, before allowing a smile to spread across her face and a triumphant laugh to escape her lips.

"Princess Mary?" Lady Salisbury was alarmed by the sudden change in her charge's emotions, afraid that the strain might have led her to become hysterical.

"She knew that she would never be able to get away with it!" Mary exclaimed, able to take pleasure in this turn of events, despite the seriousness of the situation with regard to her father's health. "She knew that, as soon as the King recovered, he would want to see me and she knew that, if she told him that she kept me away from court, he would be furious with her!"

She should never have doubted her father's love for her.

Even Anne could see that Mary was the pearl of his world, his beloved daughter, and even Anne knew that, no matter how much the King might indulge her in other matters, there were lines that even she did not dare to cross. Mary deplored the fact that her father ignored her mother in favour of Anne and, although she loved her little brother, she hated to see the way their father lavished his attention on Arthur whenever he paid a visit to Hatfield, spending more time with him than he did with her, but Anne's change of heart bolstered her faith in her father's love for her.

No matter how much Anne wanted to, that was something she could not destroy.

* * *

Katherine knew that Anne was at a meeting with the Privy Council, and that if she paid a visit to Henry's bedchamber, she could do so without worrying about the younger woman appearing.

It was not that she objected to Anne's presence, not really.

Anne was Henry's wife too and Katherine believed that she truly loved him, which allowed her to empathize with Katherine's fears for his health in a way that nobody else could, but if Anne was there – if Dr Linacre was willing to allow her to come within a dozen yards of Henry, in her condition – she could be certain that at least one of the men in Anne's family would also be there.

The Dukes of Wiltshire and Norfolk were guarding their daughter and niece like a pair of dragons, shadowing her footsteps whenever she ventured out of her apartment. They did not hover too closely to her as a general rule, perhaps for fear of irritating her, but whenever Katherine took a step in Anne's direction, wanting to speak to her about bringing Mary to court, one of the men would be quick to find some excuse to whisk her away before Katherine could get too close. Katherine didn't know if Anne's family were trying to keep them from speaking, or if Anne had asked them to see to it that she was never put in a position where she had to speak to her, but either way, the result was the same and she couldn't help but feel irritated by it.

Had they been with Anne in Henry's bedchamber when she arrived, they would not dare to suggest that she should leave but their presence poisoned the atmosphere of any room they entered, and she would not be able to feel anything but ill at ease, knowing that they were watching her.

Thankfully, the only people in the room with Henry were Dr Linacre and the other physicians, all but one of whom vacated the room at her request to allow her a few minutes alone with her husband, though Linacre cautioned her not to come any closer to Henry than the foot of his bed, handing her a pomander to help guard against contagion.

Henry's face was as white as sun-bleached linen as he lay there, his forehead beaded with sweat. When he shifted his head, she could see a dark patch on the pillow beneath him, where he had drenched it with his sweat. He showed no sign of being aware that she was there with him.

It was strange and disconcerting to see him looking so frail.

The Henry she met when she first came to England, the boy who escorted her to her wedding to his elder brother, was the picture of youthful health, tall and strong for his age, his vitality making the much quieter Arthur look almost frail next to him. The Henry she married was the undoubted star of the jousting arena, the hunt, the archery butts and the tennis court, triumphing because of his strength and skill, not because his competitors deferred to his royal status but because he truly was the most skilled athlete at court.

Now, he looked as though his hold on life was a tenuous one, and it grieved her.

If it was God's will to call Henry to Him, she knew that she should not question it but she also knew what it would mean for the country if he died.

Chapuys made it clear to her that he believed that, if Henry died, she and Mary could easily seize power from Anne and Arthur but, not only was she certain that it would be more difficult to ensure that Mary became Queen than Chapuys believed, Katherine had no intention of usurping the throne from the rightful heir, even for her beloved daughter's sake. She made her opinion of the suggestion abundantly clear and hoped that Chapuys would have the sense to drop it.

It was fortunate that nobody else was within earshot when he made his suggestion.

However, despite refusing to even consider the idea of encouraging Mary to try to challenge Arthur for the throne or of supporting such a challenge, if it came to that, she would have been lying to herself if she claimed that she was completely unmoved by Chapuys' words, and by the picture he painted of Mary's potential future if they did not move to make her Queen of England while they had the chance, before it was too late and the Boleyns and Howards managed to cement their hold on power through little Arthur.

Through the Act of Regency, Henry had concentrated power almost exclusively in Anne's hands.

If he died, she could dismiss his Privy Council on a whim and appoint men of her choice to replace them, surrounding herself with her kinsman or even with heretics if that was her preference. She could place her family and supporters in virtually every position of power in the country, banishing anybody she disliked from court. She would rule England until Arthur came of age and, if that was not enough, she was also to hold Mary's wardship if Henry died before Mary was married, which would give her the power to decide where Mary would live and who she was to marry.

Henry did not even bother to oblige Anne to consult his daughter's mother about her future!

Chapuys predicted that, if Henry died, Anne and her family would waste no time in marrying Mary off but that, instead of making a royal match for her, they would marry Mary to an ordinary English gentleman, a man who would never be able to maintain the kind of establishment to which his royal birth entitled him and a man who would never be accepted as Mary's King Consort.

As much as Katherine would hate to see Anne marry Mary to a French prince in order to cement England's tie to France, at Spain's expense, that would be a preferable alternative.

It would be one thing if Mary, like her aunt, Princess Margaret, fell in love with a man who was not of royal birth and chose to marry him, giving up her chance of marrying royally, perhaps even becoming Queen of another country, but it was not a fate that should be forced upon her.

Even if Anne was politically astute enough to be aware of the potential benefits of finding the best possible royal match for Mary, her father and uncle would be alert for any hint that Mary could prove a threat to Arthur and, if they believed that she was, they would be quick to advise Anne to neutralize the threat that Mary posed. Would Anne agree with them, or refuse?

Katherine didn't know enough about the other woman to anticipate her actions.

She fingered her rosary beads as she looked down at Henry, her lips moving automatically to speak the words of the familiar prayers while her heart pleaded with Henry to recover.

She could not lose him, not yet, and neither could their daughter.

* * *

When Wolsey died, Cromwell had inherited his impressive spy network, and added to it.

Letters sent by foreign ambassadors were intercepted as a matter of course, carefully steamed and pried open without damaging the seal, copied and then sent on to their intended recipients. This was more difficult with some ambassadors than with others, and where the Imperial ambassador was concerned, it was almost absurdly simple. Chapuys' servant was neither particularly loyal to his master nor well-off, a combination that ensured that he was always content to lend Chapuys' correspondence to Cromwell's agents for a few hours, for a price.

The code had posed a modest challenge in the beginning but it was deciphered a long time ago, and Cromwell's code breaker needed only a matter of minutes to decode the short letter before delivering it to Cromwell's office for his perusal, setting it on top of a small stack of other letters. "I think that you should read this one next, Master Cromwell." He recommended gravely.

Cromwell set aside his work and lifted the letter, intrigued. As soon as he read it, he knew that the information it contained was too valuable to be kept a secret. He folded the sheet of parchment neatly, tucking it into the pocket of his doublet before summoning a servant. "Find the Duke of Wiltshire and the Duke of Norfolk and ask them if I may pay them a visit." He instructed. "Tell them that I have uncovered information that will be of interest to them."


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**_23rd April 1532_ **

"But this is treason!" The Duke of Norfolk's expression was a mixture of indignation and excitement. "What in Heaven's name possessed them to commit it to paper?"

He was previously of the opinion that Katherine was a reasonably intelligent woman, albeit one who sometimes allowed her pride to blind her to the facts, and those who spoke to him about Chapuys described the man as very shrewd, praising him for his cunning and noting that he was a man to watch out for. He had clearly overestimated their intelligence and good sense, if they were such fools as to put their intention to deprive the true heir to the throne of his inheritance in favour of his half-sister, a girl who was fortunate not to be formally known as a bastard, in writing.

Now they had proof that, for all Katherine's protestations of loyalty to the King, her insistence that she would obey him in all things not touching her conscience and her pretence about accepting his right to accept the pope's concession and take a second wife, and Anne and Arthur's places in the King's life, she would betray him while he lay fighting for his life, calling on a foreign ruler to aid her in her quest to put her half-Spanish daughter on the throne, willing to deprive the people of England of their true King rather than accept that the throne was not Mary's birthright.

If the King still had any doubts about whether it was worth the trouble it would take to annul his marriage to Katherine, and see to it that Mary was disinherited as a bastard, those doubts would be put to rest as soon as he heard what they were up to as soon as he was incapacitated.

He would never take any chances with his son's inheritance, even if it meant that it was necessary to hurt his daughter in order to protect his son.

He would demand that his Privy Council find a way to see his marriage to Katherine pronounced null and void as soon as it could possibly be arranged, no matter what it took to achieve it, no matter how much it offended the Emperor to see the Great Matter revisited with the intention of his aunt being cast aside. No attempts by Katherine and her supporters to reason with him, or to appeal to the love he cherished for Mary, in the hope that he would not wish to see her hurt by the loss of the title she had held since her birth, would be able to convince him not to do it.

Anybody who sought to persuade him not to cast Katherine from his life and to disinherit Mary would be regarded with suspicion at best, and as a traitor at worst.

Even Sir Thomas More wouldn't be able to speak on their behalf without rousing the King's anger... though it was likely that, even if he knew that the King would be angry with him, he would still speak out, if he felt that his conscience demanded it of him... and while his opinion might be respected in other matters, that would not be the case with this affair.

Norfolk only hoped to be present when Katherine was called to account for her treasonous activity.

He wanted her to see that, no matter how proud she was of her royal Spanish heritage, no matter how much the people loved her and no matter how much faith she put in the Emperor, believing that he would never allow any harm to come to his aunt, no matter what she chose to do, it was not enough to allow her to commit treason without suffering the consequences.

Even she must obey the laws of England, whether she liked it or not.

"It's a good thing they did, and that Master Cromwell was able to intercept it," the Duke of Wiltshire remarked, nodding his appreciation and telling himself that it had been very wise of him and of his family to help facilitate Cromwell's advancement at court. Like Cranmer, the man was invaluable to them but he was made of sterner stuff than the Archbishop by far, and wouldn't have the same scruples about doing whatever it took to advance their agenda. Cramner, while intelligent and loyal, sometimes seemed to be too gentle for his own good and, more importantly, the good of his patrons. Cromwell did not share this flaw. Cromwell was a man who could see what needed to be done, and who would always be ready to do it. "The King should know that there is a viper concealed within his family – perhaps two vipers," he amended. "I don't doubt that Madam Mary would be glad of the chance to usurp the throne, if she could."

The girl's mother probably had her convinced that she was unjustly deprived of her place as heir to the throne, and that she - half-Spanish bastard that she was! - had more of a right to it than the Prince of Wales did. Instead of doing the right thing by refusing to usurp her brother's throne, by recognising her good fortune in being allowed to continue to call herself a princess and look forward to a royal marriage rather than being regarded as a royal bastard who would be fortunate if the King found a minor English nobleman willing to take her as his bride, and by appreciating that she already had more than she deserved, he was sure that the girl would leap at the opportunity to become Queen, over her brother's dead body, if necessary.

The King would need to act swiftly and decisively to deal with Madam Mary and her mother, and once she knew of the threat to her son, even Anne would have the sense not to interfere.

His daughter might be soft, and might want to try to cultivate as cordial a relationship as she could with Katherine and Mary, for the sake of peace within the royal family, but if her son was threatened, she would be a lioness in his defence, ready to strike down all those who sought to harm him. She would never stand idly by while her son was denied his rights.

"Or that the Emperor would back her, if she tried." Norfolk seconded Boleyn.

It might be forbidden for one Christian monarch to wage war against another, except in defence of his territory, but he knew better than to think that this would keep the Emperor from trying to force the issue of his cousin's succession, if her rival was just a toddler when their father died, young enough for the people to be wary of the idea of a child ruler, and to prefer an older candidate, even if she was female, as she would be able to rule without needing a Regent, and to marry and bear children, ensuring a stable succession.

It was to his advantage that the girl became Queen of England, after all, since Katherine would see to it that her daughter's foreign policy was dictated primarily by the interests of her native Spain.

The English common people might love her, and might hail her as their Good Queen Katherine, believing that, despite her Spanish birth, she was English in spirit and that her most ardent desire was to ensure the welfare of her English subjects but in her heart, England would always be second to Spain. She would seek the advice of the Emperor rather than that of English lords, even though they would be better able to judge what was best for England, instead of focusing primarily on how best to serve the interests of Spain, as though England was nothing more than a province in the Empire, rather than a proud nation in its own right.

Norfolk wouldn't put it past Mary to involve England in the Emperor's conflicts with France or the Turks, to the ruin of the treasury and at the cost of countless English lives.

The sooner that a way could be found to remove Mary from the succession, and preferably to declare her illegitimate into the bargain, the more secure Prince Arthur would be.

Norfolk knew that neither he nor his brother-in-law would shed a sincere tear if Mary died of one of her frequent illnesses, or if her mother followed her to the grave.

It would make things so much easier.

"Why couldn't Anne have been sensible, and left Madam Mary at Hatfield, where she belongs?" Boleyn grumbled, thinking that they would be in a better position if his daughter had not been soft, and insisted on bringing her stepdaughter to court... or if he had put his foot down and overruled her command, rather than humouring her out of deference to her delicate condition, making it clear that, though she might be Regent, he knew what was best for England and for their family. He was certain that even the King would rather that Katherine's daughter was kept safely out of the way, if there was the slightest chance that her presence might threaten Arthur's position. Even if he asked for the girl in his delirium, and was distressed when she could not be brought to his bedside, once he recovered his wits, he would have been thankful to know that they had kept her where she could do no damage. "Perhaps it is not too late to send her back... and I know that I would be happier if she was away from that governess of hers too."

He would be only too happy to instruct George, or perhaps Sir Francis Bryan, to escort Mary back to Hatfield today, and to bring a company of guards to see that she stayed there.

If the worst came to the worst, he would also prefer that Lady Salisbury was away from Mary, and unable to use the influence she still wielded by virtue of her Plantagenet blood to muster support for any attempt that Katherine and her wretched daughter made to seize the throne. The King's father had been too merciful when he refrained from disposing of Lady Salisbury as he had her brother, thinking that it was enough to see to it that the lady married a gentleman loyal to him, and one who would never have the means to support her, should she try to claim the throne on the strength of her Plantagenet blood. Now, she had sons of her own, young men in whose veins the blood of Kings flowed, and she might even hope to see one of them married to Madam Mary, thinking that their combined claim would be enough to topple Arthur from the throne.

Better that the old lady be sent to the block, along with every member of her family, down to her grandchildren, than that she be allowed to meddle in this matter.

"If I may, Your Grace, I do not think that this would be wise," Cromwell cut it. Although he inclined his head deferentially as he spoke, his tone was resolute. He knew that there was no way that they could be allowed to banish Mary from court, not at a time like this, and needed them to see that before they gave the order for her removal. "I believe that it was sensible of the Princess Consort to see to it that Princess Mary came to court at a time like this. It would not be to the Princess Consort's advantage if the people were given the mistaken impression that Princess Mary is being mistreated. We should not give the Lady Katherine any opportunity to claim that she and her daughter are cruelly handled. That would only increase the support of the people."

He would usually have referred to Katherine as the Queen but he knew that the other two men would not wish to hear that title applied to her, taking it as an unwelcome reminder that, despite their best efforts, they had been unable to secure that title for Anne. He knew that it was in nobody's interests that he irritate them over so minor a matter, as they would then be far less willing to heed his advice if their tempers were roused. Whatever title he called her by, it was undeniable that Katherine was popular, far more so than Anne. If anybody could persuade the people to allow the rightful heir to be disinherited in favour of his sister, it would be Katherine.

If the people believed that she and Mary were being mistreated, they would be indignant on their behalf, and would cry out against Anne for being so cruel to the King's other wife and his daughter, insisting that she had no possible right to mistreat the Queen and the Princess, even if she was the King's second wife. Anne couldn't afford to have the people against her, not if she wanted to have any hope of securing the throne for Prince Arthur, and the Regency for herself.

Although his expression remained placid, Cromwell was very worried.

It would not be to his advantage, or that of the Boleyns and Howards, if the King died.

Prince Arthur was a child of two, little more than a baby.

In law, he was his father's heir, and even the Bishop of Rome accepted him as such, at least for now, but it would be many years before he was of an age to rule, or to father a child of his own, if the Princess Consort's unborn child was not a Duke of York to supplant Mary as the next in line for the throne. A new princess would be better than no child at all, of course, but they would not be able to disinherit Mary in favour of a daughter by Anne without rousing the anger of the people, who would protest on Mary's behalf, and of the Emperor, who might wage war over it.

Cromwell didn't doubt that the Princess Consort was an intelligent woman, and that she was capable of doing an admirable job as Regent. While she governed the country, he could be certain that those who embraced the true religion would be free to practice their beliefs without fear of persecution from the agents of Rome, and with the advice of men like her father, her uncle and himself, she would be able to keep the country running smoothly, and safely out of ruinous foreign wars, until her little son was old enough to rule England in deed instead of just in name.

He just doubted that Anne would be given the chance to prove it.

The Act of Regency allowed no room for interpretation.

In the event of the King's death during the minority of his heir, the Princess Consort was to be absolute governess of the kingdom and of the heir, until the heir was of an age to rule. Even if Mary became Queen before reaching her majority, the King wished for Anne to rule on her behalf, not Katherine, and had made his wishes very clear. Should Anne predecease the King, or choose to relinquish the role, the position of Regent would pass to the Duke of Wiltshire, the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Ormonde, in that order.

Other trusted nobles were named as possible Regents, including the Duke of Suffolk but Katherine was barred from the role, as was her daughter.

However, there was no guarantee that the Act of Regency would be left to stand.

Katherine had her supporters, even if many of them deemed it wise not to support her openly when the King preferred to see his courtiers back Anne.

In the event of the King's death, it was entirely possible that, even if she could not see to it that Mary became Queen, even if the people upheld Prince Arthur's right to be his father's heir and would not see him displaced for his sister, however much they loved her, Katherine would be able to usurp the role of Regent, taking control of the toddler King and of his country.

Anne could find herself married to whichever minor prince or archduke the Emperor could persuade to take her as a wife, in order to keep her safely out of Katherine's way, and she would be all but exiled from England and from her children, if not worse. With Katherine holding the reins of power, and men like Sir Thomas More and Bishop Fisher backing her, any hope that England would be released from superstition and papal thraldom would be lost. The Spanish Inquisition would cross the seas, determined to stamp out the true religion in England.

"We're probably better off having Madam Mary at Whitehall, where we can keep an eye on her, and on her mother." Norfolk conceded, seeing the sense of what Cromwell was saying. After all of their work to put Anne in the King's bed and a child of Howard blood on the throne, the thought that the little Prince of Wales might be cheated of his throne, while they lost their position of power and influence, was an infuriating one but he knew that they could not act in haste. "His Majesty may yet recover; I know that we are all praying that he will. When he does, we will show him Ambassador Chapuys' letter, so that he will know what happened during his illness."

It did not take a soothsayer to predict that the King would be enraged at the suggestion that Katherine had conspired to deprive Arthur, the Prince that the King and his people had waited so long for, of his throne in favour of her daughter as soon as she saw the opportunity to do so.

He had not gone to such lengths in order to marry Anne and become the father of a legitimate prince, a prince of pure English blood, only to see his half-Spanish daughter try to claim the throne for herself. Had he wanted to leave his country in Mary's keeping, he wouldn't have bothered trying to free himself of her mother in order to remarry and father sons. He hadn't thought her a suitable heir for his country before, and he would be even less likely to entrust the future of his country to her once he knew what she and her mother were plotting.

If the King had any doubts about whether he should be working to annul his union with Katherine, and see to it that Madam Mary was rendered illegitimate, this letter would put them to rest.

At least Katherine's treachery would do them some good.

"We will watch Katherine and Madam Mary closely," Boleyn ruled. "Any letter that Chapuys attempts to send will be intercepted, and copies will be made. If we judge the contents to be a threat to us, we will see to it that the letter never reaches the Emperor. If it becomes necessary, the Emperor can be sent a forgery." He added, thinking that, if the King's illness was a long one, some message would have to be sent from Katherine to the Emperor, in case he grew suspicious when he didn't hear from her. "No letter that Katherine attempts to send will be allowed to leave the palace, and the same goes for her daughter. Any letter that is sent to them will be read, and a copy made, before they receive it... and that's if we decide to allow them to receive it."

He had no intention of allowing any letters of support and encouragement that the Emperor might send his aunt to reach her. The last thing they needed was for Katherine's resolve to be bolstered, as it surely would be if she was confident that she would have the backing of the Emperor when she sought to usurp Arthur's throne on her wretched daughter's behalf. If she thought that she would have the Emperor's armies to support her uprising, she was sure to try it.

How much easier matters would be if the King's marriage to Katherine was childless!

Perhaps, without a child whose interests and whose dubious claim to the throne she was obsessed with protecting, the woman might even have had the sense to recognise when she was no longer wanted, and to retire to a nunnery so that the King would be free to make Anne his Queen instead of having to endure this ridiculous situation, forced to pretend that he still viewed Katherine as his wife, and to see his true wife and the mother of his heirs denied the title of Queen.

Even if she refused to leave willingly, what man could blame the King for ordering her away?

"It would be wise to examine any letters sent by members of their household, and to ensure that they do not leave the court without the express permission of the Princess Consort, or of Your Graces." Cromwell put in smoothly, thinking that Katherine was certainly intelligent enough to anticipate that her letters might be intercepted, especially at a time like this, and that she might try to entrust any messages she wanted to send to a trusted lady-in-waiting, somebody who would be loyal to her and willing to take a risk on her behalf. "If we are to report this matter to the King, we should make sure that we gather as much evidence as possible before we say anything."

The ladies engaged by Cardinal Wolsey and now paid by him to spy on their mistress would be able to tell him which members of the household should be most closely watched.

Even if they were unable to gather enough evidence to allow for a charge of treason – and, regardless of the evidence against her, he knew that it would be foolish of them to force Katherine to stand trial, or even to publicly accuse her, as the people would surely defend her – they could learn enough to see to it that the King would never trust Katherine and her supporters again.

"I agree." Norfolk said, nodding his approval. "We will watch Katherine, Mary and Chapuys, and see to it that they have no further opportunity to communicate with the Emperor. When the King recovers, we will have a story to tell him." He finished, with a satisfied smile, content, for now, to allow them to believe that their treachery was undetected.

He could tell by the matching smile on Boleyn's face that the other man shared his opinion.

They would do nothing, and give Katherine and Chapuys the tools to build their own scaffold.

* * *

**_7th May 1532_ **

Doctor Linacre had strictly forbidden her to come any nearer to Henry than the foot of his bed.

After more than two weeks, during which time none of Henry's attendants contracted his illness, he was relatively confident that only prolonged exposure, without the protection of tonics to strengthen their defences against contagion and cloths worn over their faces to keep them from breathing in toxins, would cause Henry's illness to be passed on but, as her condition left her particularly vulnerable, Anne needed to take extra precautions, and was obliged to maintain more of a distance than other visitors.

Arthur couldn't visit at all.

He was too young and too precious for them to allow him to come into contact with anybody who was ill, and she didn't want him to be distressed by the sight of his father's still form. It was difficult enough for them to try to keep themselves from showing their worry around the little boy, so he didn't realize that he was in danger of being fatherless, without making matters worse.

Arthur was in the nursery, taking his nap under Lady Bryan's careful supervision, and her meeting with the Privy Council had concluded before noon. For the most part, they focused on maintaining order at court, on keeping a watchful eye out in case any factions formed among the nobility that might threaten the interests of the Tudors, and of Arthur in particular, and on keeping abreast of developments abroad, but there was still a great deal to do, and the demands on her time were considerable so she couldn't spend as much time with Henry as she liked. She couldn't let him down by shirking her duties as Regent. Fortunately, there was nobody seeking an audience with her today, so she could slip away to spend some time with her husband.

Two of Doctor Linacre's assistant physicians were in the room with her but they busied themselves with tasks and maintained a respectful distance, allowing her the illusion of privacy.

The illusion was all they could have these days, as the physicians couldn't leave the King entirely.

If his condition took a sudden turn for the worse, they needed to be by his side without delay.

She kept her one-sided conversation light, telling him how much Arthur had grown since their last visit to Hatfield, and about the games he demanded that George play with him whenever he visited the nursery, which he often did. At two, Arthur was not so subdued by worry for his father, of by the solemn demeanours of the adults around him, despite their efforts to feign cheerfulness for his sake, that he could not enjoy having his uncle crawl around the nursery on all fours, carrying him on his back, so poor George was called on to play the part of Arthur's steed on a daily basis.

She mentioned Mary briefly, telling him that his daughter had also come to court, and that she was praying for him to get better, as they all were, but not knowing what else she could say about her stepdaughter, of whom she saw so little, and knew even less.

She didn't speak of the aura of uncertainty at court, of the way they were all worrying about whether or not he would survive his illness, even if they were unwilling to voice the possibility that he might die aloud, knowing that it was treason to predict the King's death, and knowing what it would mean for the country if it happened. She didn't mention her fear of being widowed, and that their unborn child might never have the chance to know his or her father.

Henry needed her prayers and her faith in his strength, not her fears.

She was kneeling at the foot of his bed, her hands clasped in prayer, when she heard the creak of the door opening, followed by a respectful greeting from one of the physicians, an imperious demand to know how the King fared and a softly voiced response, assuring her that His Majesty was no worse, and that he was even a little cooler today.

She didn't need to turn to know that Mary had entered.

Had it been Katherine, she would either have joined her in her prayers, even if she did not speak to her directly, or else she would have quietly slipped away when she saw that Henry already had a visitor, returning at a time when she could be alone with their husband, if she wished to pray without an audience or if she wanted to speak to Henry's still, silent form without prying ears listening to what she had to say. Anne often spoke to him, and found solace in it, even though she couldn't know that he heard what she had to say. Mary did neither. She stayed near the door, unwilling to approach her father while Anne was there but equally unwilling to leave, as though she was the one intruding, and as though Anne had any more of a right to be there than she did.

The hairs on the back of Anne's neck prickled and she knew, without looking back, that Mary was glaring at her, silently willing her to leave the room so that she and Henry could be alone.

Anne had seen almost nothing of Mary since the girl was summoned from Hatfield.

She supposed that it was natural that Katherine and Mary would want to spend their time together, supporting one another in this difficult time. She knew that she found greater solace playing with her little son, whose antics allowed her to relax and, for a brief time, to enjoy some respite from her fears for her husband and the burdens of Regency, than in the company of any other person, including her brother and sister. She didn't think that any member of the royal family had dined in state in the Great Hall since Henry became ill, each of them preferring to dine privately, away from the keen eyes of the courtiers. None of them wanted to be stared at, knowing that the courtiers were wondering how each of them would react to the King's death.

She wasn't going to leave the room, as though she had no right to be there and should make way for Mary, as though Mary had more of a right to be near Henry than she did.

If Mary wanted to stay, she was welcome.

If Mary wanted to leave, and return when Anne was gone, that was her choice.

Anne had no intention of allowing anybody to make her feel like an intruder in her husband's bedchamber.

She was Henry's wife, and her place was by her side.

It was long past time for Mary to accept this.

She was no longer a child, who could be forgiven for her inability to accept her father's unusual marital arrangement. She was old enough now to understand the reason why the pope had granted Henry permission to marry a second wife, and what the alternative to their arrangement would have been, had they decided not to accept it. Mary's position would have been worse if Henry had decided to insist that the pope annul his marriage to Katherine, refusing to accept half-measures because the pope lacked the courage to issue a just verdict, even if that verdict offended the Emperor. If Henry wasn't set free, he would have found a way to secure his freedom, sooner or later, and, once his marriage to Katherine was annulled, Mary would have been regarded as a bastard rather than as a princess. She would have had no place in the line of succession, and no hope of making a royal marriage.

She was old enough now to recognise that, even if she resented losing her position as heir to the throne, and resented that her father had a second wife and a child by her, there were worse fates.

She didn't acknowledge Mary's arrival, continuing to speak to Henry, as there was nothing she was saying to him that Mary couldn't hear, and then praying for several minutes. After she judged that a sufficient amount of time had passed for her point to be made, she rose, smoothing her gown and turning to face her stepdaughter, who bobbed a shallow curtsey but wouldn't meet her eyes.

Anne was sure that Mary was controlling her temper with difficulty, and that there were many things that she would have liked to say to her but didn't dare.

She stayed in the room a moment longer, watching Mary approach her father's bed, and kneel by his side, feeling a stab of envy towards Mary and Katherine, who were allowed to be closer to him than she was. She turned and was ready to leave the room when she heard Henry's groan, followed by the sound of bedclothes shifting as he moved. She whirled around, watching as he turned in his bed, looking more animated than he had since he first collapsed.

"Doctor Linacre!" Anne and Mary called for the physician in unison, Mary stepping back as he approached, to allow him access to the bed.

His relieved smile after he pressed a hand to Henry's forehead, now beaded with sweat, to check his temperature, and measured the speed of his pulse, told them that the news was good before he spoke a word to them. For the first time since Henry became ill, Anne felt a weight lifted from her shoulders and she knew that all would be well.

Henry was going to get better.

He was going to be able to meet their new child, and be a father to him or her.

They were going to be able to watch Arthur grow up together, knowing that he wouldn't have to become King of England before he was old enough to take his father's place. They would see the new baby, and the other children God sent them, grow into fine young men and women, princes and princesses that England could be proud of, before the day came when those children had to leave, as all royal children did. God willing, they would see their grandchildren born, and would grow to old age together.

They were going to be able to be together, and to love one another, for many years more.

"God be praised, Your Majesty, His Majesty's fever has broken." Doctor Linacre said, addressing Anne. "His pulse has slowed." He crossed himself, feeling relieved.

As great an honour as it was to be the King's primary physician, and as generously as he was paid for his services –as well as being able to expect special rewards when he managed to preserve the life of a member of the royal family after a serious accident or illness, rewards that ensured that, when the time came for him to retire, he could anticipate a comfortable old age – the position was one of grave responsibility, as the fate of the country depended on him preserving the life of its sovereign. Had he made a mistake and cost the King his life, not only would he face the risk of being accused of having deliberately neglected his duty, perhaps even being considered a traitor, he would have robbed the country of its sovereign, and risked civil war.

It was not a responsibility to be taken lightly.

"Father?" Mary reached out to clutch his hand, kissing it. "Father, can you hear me? It is Mary." She wanted to tell him that his pearl was here with him, that she loved him and that her mother loved him, and that they would both rejoice now that he was well, now that he would live and be able to protect him from the malice of Anne and her kin, if they held power, but she couldn't say that around Anne. She didn't want to have Anne standing there, watching her with her father, and she didn't want Anne to hear words that were for her father's ears alone.

Why couldn't she have left a minute sooner, so that Mary could have this precious moment to herself, and so that she could send for her mother so she could come too?

Why did Anne always have to spoil everything?

Her father's lips moved, and he made a faint sound, his words too inaudible for Mary to make out what he was saying. When he heard how slurred his words were, he tried to speak more clearly. His eyes were bleary, and he had trouble focusing on her face, or anything else. She watched with bated breath as her father tried to steady himself, and get his bearings, praying that he would know her face and know that she had been here for him, willing him to get better, that he would ask for her mother and feel relieved when she came to him, grateful for her love and for the prayers she said for him. God would surely have listened to the prayers of such a good and devout woman, even if He had no ears for the prayers of heretics like Anne.

Mary was sure that she and her mother had saved her father, and that he would be thankful for it.

Instead, he turned his head restlessly, his eyes searching out another face, and she knew in her heart that he wasn't looking for her or for her mother.

"Anne?" He shifted in the bed, trying to turn to see if she was in the room. "Anne?"

Mary felt her father's hand slip from her slack grasp, and hot tears pricked her eyes.

How could Anne be the one he wanted to see?

He should have wanted his _real_ family. He should have wanted to take her in his arms, tell her how much he loved her and promise her that he would never frighten her or her mother like that again. He should have wanted to command his attendants to see to it that the Queen, his true wife, was brought to his bedside at once, so that he could give thanks to her for the prayers that had saved him, and tell her that he understood now that it was wicked for him to have ever imagined that he could love another woman, or want her to be his Queen, that he knew that he should have been content with the blessings God had given him in his wife and daughter without looking for more.

He should have told them that, after being so near to death, he knew what was truly important to him, and that all that they were all that mattered to him.

Anne and Arthur could wait.

He was Mary's and her mother's long before he was theirs.

Instead, he wanted Anne, and didn't even seem to see Mary as he looked around the room, searching for Anne's face. He didn't relax until Anne moved to kneel by his bedside, ignoring Doctor Linacre's attempts to warn her to be careful, and took his hand in hers, kissing it, feeling for herself that it was cooler now that he no longer burned with the fever that almost claimed his life.

"I'm here, Henry, and so is Mary." Anne told him, overjoyed at being able to hear his voice again.

Mary bitterly wondered why Anne bothered to say that she was there when her presence ensured that he had no eyes or ears for anybody else. She always stole his attention so completely that there was none left for anybody else, unless she wished for him to fuss over Arthur too. She took a couple of steps back, hoping that her father would become aware of her absence, and that he would look to her, smile at her and let her know that he was just as glad to see her as he was to see Anne. Instead, he didn't seem to notice that she moved away, or that she was ever there.

Not wanting to allow herself to cry in front of them, Mary backed out of the room, hastening to her mother's apartment to let her know that the King was awake, but that he only wanted Anne.

"Anne…" Henry breathed her name softly, almost reverently, as though it was a prayer. "I dreamed of you." He tried to raise his hand to touch her face but he could only lift it a few inches. He frowned at his arm, wondering why it wouldn't obey him, wondering why he suddenly felt so feeble when the last thing he remembered was being on the jousting field. "Have I been ill?"

For the life of him, he couldn't understand why his question caused slightly hysterical laughter to bubble forth from his wife's lips, or why her laughter quickly gave way to tears of joy and relief.

All he knew was that he was happy to have her there with him.

* * *

**_23rd May 1532_ **

Henry knew that the only reason that the Dukes of Norfolk and Wiltshire, together with Master Cromwell and Master Cranmer, had waited so long to tell him what had happened during his illness was because of their sincere concern for his health, and their fear that any shocking or upsetting news could have caused a relapse but, when they sought an audience with him, and shared their account of what Katherine and Chapuys were up to while he lay in bed, helpless to stop their machinations against Anne and Arthur, he wished that they had brought this to him sooner.

"How dare they?" He thundered, flinging the copies of Chapuys' letters to the table and pacing the room, like a wild animal in a confined space. "How dare they plot against my wife and my heir? What right does the Emperor have to interfere with the lawful succession of my country?"

"None, Your Majesty." Boleyn responded promptly, though he was sure that the Emperor would say that he had every right to interfere, as long as he could pretend that he was defending his kinswoman's inheritance, and his aunt's position. "But we cannot pretend that it would not be to the Emperor's advantage if Princess Mary succeeded Your Majesty." He had to remind himself to apply the title of Princess to the girl but, if the King's reaction was anything to judge by, he could have used his usual, insulting 'Madam Mary' without fear of reprimand.

"My daughter is a bastard in all but name!" Henry snapped, glaring at them as though he expected one of them to challenge his statement. None of them did, and Boleyn and Norfolk had to hide their pleasure at his words. "And even if she wasn't, she is only a girl. Prince Arthur is my legitimate son – my eldest legitimate son," he amended, thinking that, in light of this news, it was essential that the child Anne was carrying should be a boy, another prince to stand between Mary and the throne, and to prove the rightness of his cause when he sought to annul his accursed union with Katherine. "He is first rightful heir, not Mary."

Had he made a mistake in agreeing to allow Mary to continue to be known as legitimate?

His conscience was already troubled by the idea of allowing her to marry into another royal family, giving his fellow monarch a bastard for a daughter-in-law, but this was even worse.

Under no circumstances could he allow Arthur's inheritance to be threatened.

"Only a traitor would dispute that, Your Majesty." Norfolk said calmly. "But there are many traitors in Your Majesty's realm, some of them people who are very dear to you. We cannot pretend otherwise. It would be foolish for us to ignore a threat that is so near to us all."

Henry nodded grimly, thinking of the people who sympathised with Katherine and with Mary and who, though they dared not say so, disagreed with his decision to marry Anne, people who, despite Arthur's birth, would accept it if he annulled his marriage to Anne, and declared their son illegitimate, so that Katherine could be his sole wife and Mary his heiress.

It was to be expected that the Emperor's focus would be on how best to serve his own country's interests, even if that meant going against the interests of another country… though Henry considered it dishonourable that a man he had once considered his ally, and who called him 'uncle' should deliberately act against English interests. The Emperor believed that it would be in his interests to see Mary as Queen, knowing that she and Katherine would respect their blood tie to him, and that they would wish to be his allies, rather than considering any other alliances.

Chapuys was the Emperor's ambassador, charged with acting as an intermediary between him and England, and with keeping him apprised of all developments that could affect him. It was to be expected that he would make his master's interests his priority. It was what he was paid for, and Henry knew that he would have had no use for an ambassador who didn't look out for his interests, even if those interests ran contrary to the interests of the host monarch.

For Katherine, however, there was no excuse.

She might be Spanish by birth but she had lived in England since she was little older than Mary was now, and it was to England and to him that she owed her loyalty, not to Spain or her nephew.

Where were they when she was left a penniless widow, dependent on him for her future position?

He could – and should – have refused to marry her when his father died, and she expected him to honour their sometimes betrothal and make her his Queen.

No man could have disputed his right to refuse to risk God's wrath by marrying his brother's widow, and no man could have faulted him for deciding against marrying a woman a decade his senior, a woman whose best childbearing years had passed her by and whose chances of bearing the heirs that he and his country needed were slimmer than those of a younger, healthier woman. He hadn't even had the promise of a royal dowry, as Katherine's dowry when she married Arthur was never paid in full, and her father lacked the means to be able to make up the shortfall.

At the time, he was excited to be King, out from under his father's thumb at long last, and he wanted to prove to the world that he was not like his father, that he was a chivalrous knight, eager to rescue a princess from penury and loneliness, and to reward her for her long years of patience and suffering by making her his Queen.

With hindsight, he could see that he had made a mistake but it was a mistake born of a desire to do the right thing.

He could have rejected Katherine, requiring her to either remain in England as Dowager Princess of Wales, while he looked elsewhere for a more suitable bride, or he could have sent her back to Spain and to her father. If he had done that, it was certain that King Ferdinand would never be able to find his daughter a match as grand as the one she had hoped for, not at her age and not when she was known to have been the wife of another man. He might have found a nobleman or minor royal to marry her but Katherine would never have become Queen of another country.

Instead of rejecting Katherine, he had married her, disregarding those who advised against it.

He had treated her with love and honour as his wife and Queen, and tried to make her happy.

She had wanted for nothing.

He never reproached her for losing their children, or when the only living child she gave him was a girl rather than the son he and England needed. He comforted her after each loss and he loved Mary when she was born, cherishing her as the pearl of his world instead of resenting her for being the only one to survive when all of her brothers died.

And what thanks had he had for his kindness and generosity?

When he went to her to tell her how his conscience was troubled by their union, which was against God's law and which had caused the deaths of their children, she hadn't recognised their sin, and sought to help him rectify it by joining in his petition for an annulment. Instead, she refused to see the justice of his cause, and even appealed to her nephew for help in their private affair.

When he agreed to the pope's compromise, agreed to allow Katherine and Mary to retain titles and positions to which they had no right, Katherine pretended to accept it but it was now clear that she never truly accepted Anne and Arthur's places in his life. It was clear that she was deceiving them and that, far from accepting that Arthur was the rightful Prince of Wales and future King of England, she was simply waiting for the opportunity to betray him and see Mary take the throne.

And the worst part was that he could never charge Katherine with treason, and force her to face trial for it, as she deserved.

She was cunning and had cultivated the people, knowing that, if she could deceive them into loving her, they, along with the Emperor, would be her protection against a traitor's fate. She must believe that, as long as her nephew held power and as long as the people continued to love her, he was powerless to keep her from doing as she pleased.

She would learn that she was mistaken.

"Your Grace," he addressed Norfolk in a clipped tone. "Please have a message sent to my daughter, informing her that it is my wish that she should return to Hatfield at once." He ordered. Arthur could follow his sister to Hatfield later but it was imperative that Mary be removed as soon as possible. The more of a distance there was between her and Katherine, and the more infrequently they were allowed to communicate, the less opportunity Katherine would have to warp their daughter's mind and turn her against her father and brother.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Norfolk bowed, feeling triumphant.

It didn't escape his notice that the King had avoided referring to his daughter as Princess, and he hoped to see Mary stripped of the title before she was much older.

"Master Cranmer, Master Cromwell, you are to investigate the legal and theological aspects of my Great Matter. You will find a way for me to obtain my annulment, whatever it takes." He saw Cranmer's eyes widen at the command, but the man nodded obediently. Cromwell merely nodded, calmly accepting the task he was set. "This is to be kept a secret." He commanded, glancing at Norfolk and Boleyn to see them nod agreement. "I won't have the Princess Consort's hopes raised prematurely, and I won't have the Emperor and the Lady Katherine working to thwart me."

He was certain that, somehow, Cromwell and Cranmer would succeed where Wolsey had failed.

It might take time but he was sure that, sooner or later, they would come to him with a way for him to dissolve his marriage to Katherine, clearing the path for Anne to become Queen and ensuring that Mary would never be in a position where she could challenge Arthur for the throne.

Katherine might think that she was safe, and that she could manipulate him and his country in any way that suited her, but some day, whether this year or a later year, he was going to be able to go to her and tell her that their union was null and void, that she could no longer call herself his wife or his Queen, and that Mary was nothing but a bastard.

That would be a harsher punishment for her than any other penalty he could inflict.

Katherine would learn that even the daughter of Spanish kings thwarted him at her peril.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**_23rd May 1532_ **

"How dare Lord Norfolk send me this letter!" Mary exclaimed vehemently.

She knew that most of Anne's close relatives were arrogant, believing that as long as Anne had the King's favour, they could think themselves free to do as they pleased, but she could scarcely believe that even the Duke of Norfolk would be so impertinent as to presume to command her, in her father's name, to leave the court and return to Hatfield immediately.

The message was brusque and authoritative in tone rather than deferential, as though its author was entitled to issue orders to her, as though she was not a Princess of England, the only child of the King by the Queen, his _true_ wife and the granddaughter of three sovereigns, as though the royal court was not the place she ought to be by rights.

The man had even had the gall to inform her that she was expected to quit the palace by morning!

That would scarcely give her time to have her belongings packed and to say her farewells, much less for any kind of formal leave-taking to be arranged. Did Norfolk expect her to slip away like a minor courtier who had displeased the King and was banished from court for his transgression?

Even Anne would never have dared to go so far.

She might have tried to keep Mary away from court when the King first fell ill, becoming so carried away with her new powers as Regent that she thought that she could dictate whether or not Mary should be allowed to be by the bedside of her ailing father, but she was quick to realise her mistake and to send a message to ask her to come to court.

Anne was certain to be well aware that she was fortunate that Mary had not only deigned to accept her reluctant invitation to court but that she had also kept her transgression from the King's ears.

Mary was initially inclined not to allow Anne to get away with either her attempt to keep her from court or her cowardice in pretending that it was a mistake rather than a deliberate slight. She had had every intention of paying a visit to her father, as soon as he was strong enough, and letting him know how the woman he insisted on calling his wife had dared to treat his daughter but Lady Salisbury dissuaded her. Mary was certain that, once her father learned what had happened, he would be furious with Anne for daring to behave thus to the pearl of his world, and she would have been pleased to see Anne obliged to beg her pardon for the slight but Lady Salisbury, upon learning of her intentions, reminded her that her father had been very ill, and was still recovering.

Knowing that it would do her father's health no good if, in his anger, he overtaxed his strength, and that it was better to celebrate his survival rather than to dwell on what had happened while he was ill, Mary had grudgingly yielded to her governess' persuasion and agreed not to speak of it.

This time, however, Anne's relatives had gone too far and Mary was not prepared to tolerate it any longer.

It was time that her father learned the true natures of the vipers around him.

She half-expected that Lady Salisbury would be reluctant to have her bring the matter to her father's attention, and that her governess would instead counsel her to ignore Norfolk's impertinent message and carry on as though she had never received it. She was astonished and dismayed when, instead, her governess gave orders to her maids of honour to begin packing.

"I believe that His Grace is merely following the King's commands, Your Highness, and that it is His Majesty's wish that we return to Hatfield," she said gently.

There was no doubt in her mind that the order that Mary was to leave court came from the King, even if the Duke of Norfolk was the one to sign the message that had so angered her charge. She fully expected that she too would receive a message by the end of the day, likely from the King's secretary, instructing her to see to it that Mary was made ready for her return journey to Hatfield. In a way, it was just as well that Norfolk's message to Mary had arrived first, as it would allow her more time to make the necessary preparations for their journey.

While it was true that the Princess Consort's kinsmen would be pleased to see Mary sent away from court, especially when the Prince of Wales was to remain, they would never dare to arrange for her removal without the King's knowledge and consent. Only a fool would ever give such an order, knowing that it could not remain a secret. If it was not the King's wish that his daughter be sent from court, he would want to know why she was leaving and, when the truth emerged, his anger towards the one who sought to arrange his daughter's banishment would be terrible.

In truth, Lady Salisbury was saddened but not surprised by the orders.

The King's behaviour towards his daughter following her recovery was genial enough but most of his time was devoted to the Princess Consort and the little Prince of Wales. He saw Mary only infrequently and, to the best of her knowledge, had never asked to see Queen Katherine, though he must surely know that she would have prayed tirelessly for his recovery. Instead of dining in state in the Great Hall, where the court could see him and where the Queen and Princess Mary could join him, he usually opted to dine with the Princess Consort in her apartment. More often than not, they dined alone but he sometimes invited her family or friends to join them.

Archbishop Cranmer and Master Cromwell were also among those favoured with invitations to dine with the King and the Princess Consort, invitations that were coveted by the courtiers.

Princess Mary was never invited to dine with them, though this was more a relief to her than a disappointment, given her dislike of the Princess Consort. It was, however, a great disappointment to her that her royal father never invited her to dine privately with him, nor did her join her and her mother when they shared their meals.

When the King had recovered his strength enough to be able to walk out and show himself to the people, he walked with the Princess Consort on one arm and the Prince carefully balanced in his other arm. Together, they strolled in the gardens or stood on a balcony overlooking the crowds that gathered to catch a glimpse of their sovereign, acknowledging the acclaim with smiles and waves. The people were always especially pleased to see the little Prince, greeting him joyously. Mary was not asked to join them and Lady Salisbury had taken it as an indication of the King's views about which of his wives and which of his children represented his true wife and heir.

It was his second wife and their son he wished to parade in front of the people, and he had no desire to allow the Queen or the Princess to inspire any demonstration of love and loyalty.

Lady Salisbury was certain that, as much as they might be charmed by Prince Arthur, the people's show of affection and support for Mary would have been equal to his, if not greater.

Whatever the King's behaviour towards his daughter, the Duke of Norfolk was too intelligent to act against Mary of his own accord, and the same would be true of the Duke of Wiltshire.

They must know that, learning that one of them had taken it upon themselves to send Mary from court was likely to make the King behave more tenderly to his daughter, and be more protective of her position, while they would be the ones with whom he would be angry and distant, if he did not order them to leave court for a time, to contemplate their error. An attempt to banish Mary would serve to remind the King of how dearly he once cherished her, and he would be appalled to learn that any of his courtiers believed that they could insult his child thus without redress. It would surely have made him see how much he was hurting his daughter by withholding the affection he once showered on her and devoting his time to her half-brother instead.

Lady Salisbury was certain that even the Princess Consort would not be able to go behind the King's back to banish Mary from court without redress. Her orders would be swiftly countermanded and she would be forbidden to ever again presume to command the Princess Mary to leave her father's court. It might even lead the King to command that Princess Mary should have permanent lodgings at court, so that she might be close to her royal father.

"My father would never want to send me away!" Mary was appalled that her governess should suggest such a thing. While she could understand it if her father decided that she and Arthur should return to Hatfield, and their quiet life there now that he was out of danger, she could not believe that he would want to send her away from him but to keep Arthur at court.

It should be the other way around.

Arthur was still just a toddler, and as he was the Prince of Wales, her father was careful about his health, deeming it best for him to spend most of his time in the country rather than at court, where any contagion would spread rapidly among the thousands of people there. She was long past her nursery days and she had heard some of maids in waiting saying that, at her age, it was time for her to leave the nursery household at Hatfield and return to court. They were all longing for the day when she was summoned to live at court as they would accompany her.

She was no longer a child, she was a young lady of marriageable age and her place was at court, with the King and Queen.

Had the message indicated that it was her father's wish that she should leave Hatfield to reside at court, she would willingly have accepted it but he would never send her away like this.

If Lady Salisbury could not see this, she would speak to somebody who would.

Heedless of her manners, she snatched the message from Lady Salisbury's hand and ran from the room, hastening through the corridors to her mother's apartment.

She scarcely waited long enough for one of the grooms to open the door and announce her.

"Mary?" Katherine was astonished to see her usually dignified daughter run into her apartment but, after seeing the expression of distress on Mary's face, she stilled her tongue before she could reproach her for her impulsive behaviour. "What is the matter?"

For answer, Mary thrust the message into her mother's hands.

"Lord Norfolk sent this to me," she explained. "He dares to think that he may order me from court but I will tell Papa and he will see what a snake he is, just like all of _her_ family. Norfolk will be fortunate if he is not the one who is banished from court when Papa learns what he has done..."

"Mary," Katherine spoke her daughter's name in a calm, quiet voice but it was enough to silence her. She glanced up from the message, frowning when she realised that her ladies were still present. They were all busy with needlework, as this was their time to sew shirts for the poor, but she knew that, despite their appearance of industry, there was not one of them who was not listening avidly to every word that was spoken. "You may leave us," she told them firmly. She waited until the last of them curtsied and left the room, shutting the door behind her, before frowning reprovingly at Mary. "You know better than to speak of such things in front of others."

The reprimand calmed Mary a little. Her mother scarcely ever spoke to her so sharply.

She knew that she should not have spoken before her mother had the opportunity to command her ladies to give them some privacy, as royal ladies should never air private matters in the hearing of their attendants. One could never know when a lady-in-waiting might be acting as somebody else's eyes and ears in the apartment of her royal mistress, eavesdropping on conversations that ought to be private so that she might glean from them any information that could be of potential benefit to the one who bribed her.

It wouldn't surprise her to learn that the Duke of Norfolk had a member of her mother's household in his employ, despite the kindness with which her mother always treated her attendants, who had no excuse to be anything but loyal to her. If that was the case, the lady in question might be running to him now, to let him know what Mary said about him.

However, she was certain that, once her mother was made aware of what had happened, she would understand why Mary forgot herself for a moment, and spoke without thinking.

Lady Salisbury was admitted to the room while Katherine was reading the note and, seeing from the governess' slightly flushed face and her rapid breathing that she must have exerted herself beyond her strength to try to catch up with her charge, she frowned at Mary a second time. She was disappointed to see that her daughter had behaved so thoughtlessly towards one who was so devoted to her. She motioned for Lady Salisbury to be seated, so she could catch her breath.

Although Mary considered herself a young woman rather than a child, Katherine thought that there were times when she behaved like a little girl half her age.

When she finished reading the message, her expression was grave.

"If your father wishes for you to return to Hatfield, you must obey," she said steadily.

"But he cannot wish to send me away!" Mary protested, wondering why that was not immediately apparent to her mother. "The Duke of Norfolk wrote that message, not Papa!"

"Lord Norfolk would never presume to send such a message if this was not your father's command," Katherine began. She spoke gently, knowing that it would be a blow to Mary to know that Henry wished to send her away, especially as she knew that he planned to keep Arthur at court longer; Anne had requested it of him, and he was also in no hurry to be parted from their son. However, she knew that she could not allow Mary to deceive herself into believing that this was an attempt by Anne's family to send her away rather than a choice that Henry freely made.

Given Mary's current reaction, she would not have been surprised to learn that she planned to report Norfolk to her father. She could only imagine how Henry would react if Mary barged into his Privy chamber, declaring that Norfolk was trying to banish her from court, especially if she blamed Anne. Like Mary, she too was distressed to learn that Henry had decided not to allow their daughter to remain at court, though the celebrations in honour of his safe recovery were still in progress. He had not even taken the trouble of letting her know his intentions.

If Mary had not told her, would Henry have bothered to let her know that he was sending their daughter back to Hatfield?

Katherine knew that Mary and Lady Salisbury would have come to bid her farewell but that did not absolve Henry of his duty to let the mother of his daughter know that she was leaving.

"They already tried to keep me away," Mary argued, unwilling to believe her mother's words. "When Papa was ill, that woman tried to make me stay away from court, and Lord Norfolk and Lord Wiltshire would have let her. She only asked me to come because she knew that she would be in trouble if she didn't. I shouldn't have come when Sir Francis came to fetch me," she said, imagining how her father would have reacted when he woke up and realised that she wasn't at court. He would have been so angry with Anne once he learned what she was up to while he was ill. "Then she would have had to explain to him why I wasn't there, and he would _hate_ her!"

"Mary!" It was no secret that Mary's opinion of Anne was a low one but Katherine still found the venom in her daughter's voice as she spoke of her troubling. "You are no longer a child," she scolded her. "You know better than to behave like this. A princess does not run around, shouting, and she does not speak carelessly against others. If you do not yet understand how you should behave at court, perhaps it is wise of your father to send you back to Hatfield until you have learned to behave sensibly, and with proper decorum."

The hurt expression on Mary's face was almost enough to get Katherine to cease her scolding.

It was difficult and painful for Mary to know that, while Henry might praise her as the pearl of his world and while he loved her very much, Arthur was dearer to him.

Mary was a scholar whose tutors delighted in her, knowing that they could expect her to learn all that a prince would learn and more, and who had impressed ambassadors with her erudition since she was a little child but none of her accomplishments could make him forget that she was a girl. The blood of three sovereign grandparents flowed in her veins and she loved England as dearly as her parents did, striving from childhood to prepare herself for the task of governing her country but, as far as Henry was concerned, Arthur was fitter by far to rule by virtue of his sex.

Henry had waited so long for a legitimate son that it was scarcely surprising that he all but worshipped Arthur, especially when he loved the boy's mother so much, but he was so eager to spend time with the toddler that he seemed to have little to spare for his daughter.

Katherine knew that it would distress Mary if she thought that, not only did her father favour her half-brother, her mother was also angry with her but she also knew that she could not relent.

Sparing Mary a scolding now could result in her getting in serious trouble later, if she said the wrong thing to the wrong person, or if she angered Henry by denouncing somebody he esteemed.

She loved Mary too much to allow her to do this.

"Your father loves the Princess Consort very much," she said steadily. Katherine schooled her features to ensure that she showed no outward sign of the distress she felt when speaking of Henry's love for Anne. Four years had passed since she was told of Henry's intention to take Anne as his second wife and the pain of knowing that her husband loved another woman enough to be willing to take such a drastic step – and, worse still, of knowing that, if he had his way, Henry would have set her aside to make Anne his Queen – had not faded. "She is his wife and she is the mother of his son, the heir to his throne. He will not hear a word against her, from anybody."

"He will listen to _me_ if I tell him about her!" Mary protested.

"He will not." Katherine's tone and expression were implacable. "If you speak against the Princess Consort, it will be a long time before you are permitted to return to court – if you ever are. Your father will not ask her to tolerate any insults from you. You will not have many years left in England." She hoped that this was true, much as she hated the thought of being parted from her daughter. She would rather bear her separation from Mary, knowing that her daughter was married to a great prince, than to have Mary live out her days unwed because Henry refused to guarantee that he would always recognise their daughter's legitimacy. "You are a young woman now, and a day will soon come when you are married. I was not much older than you are now when I came to England, and I have not seen Spain since I left it. Once you leave England, you may never return. Do you want to waste the years you have left here by quarrelling with the Princess Consort? I can promise that the years will fly by, faster than you would believe possible."

"No, Mama." Mary shook her head, tears filling her eyes at the thought of having to leave her home and family, perhaps never seeing either of them again.

While it was true that, if she married the Duke of Orleans, her new country would not be very far away from the country of her birth, that was no guarantee that she would be able to visit England. Her new husband might not be willing to allow his wife to travel outside his father's kingdom, especially as the journey would mean great expense, or she might not be strong enough for the journey if she was with child or had just borne a babe. She would have duties as the Duchess of Orleans and would not be able to leave the French court on a whim. And even her marriage was no guarantee that England and France would not be at war in years to come, in which case she would have to remain at a court that viewed her father and her country as their enemies.

If she was not married to the Duke of Orleans, God alone knew where her husband would live.

If her father wed her to a man who lived in Denmark or Norway or Sweden, she was certain that she would never have the chance to set foot in her homeland after her departure unless, like her Aunt Margaret, she was widowed before she could bear her royal husband children.

She wanted to enjoy her last years in England to the fullest... but how could she do that if she was forced to spend them at Hatfield, deprived of the company of her mother and father?

"I want to stay here with you, Mama," she pleaded with her mother, who hated their separation as much as she did. Mary was certain of this, even if her mother would never have spoken against the decision to send her to Hatfield, once her father decreed that it was his wish that she should. "I'm not a little girl anymore. I'll never say another word against Lady Anne... the Princess Consort if I can stay at court, I promise. Please," she reached out to clutch her mother's hand in hers, "tell Papa that I should stay here with you, until it's time for me to get married."

If her mother reminded her father of how short a time was left until her marriage, Mary was certain that he would want to keep her with him.

He had many years left with Arthur, and so few left with her.

Once he was reminded of this, he would want to have her near him, even after her little brother returned to his quiet life at his nursery palace.

"Sweetheart," Katherine began gently, "it was your father's wish that you should live at Hatfield with the Prince. He thought that it was best for you to be together. It is healthier for you in the countryside than here at court, and there is nothing there to distract you from your studies."

"I will study my lessons as well here as I do at Hatfield – no, _better_ ," Mary vowed, meaning every word. She enjoyed her lessons and had no intention of shirking, regardless of where she lived. In any case, she would not remain in the schoolroom much longer, and there were things that a princess needed to learn that could not be taught by a tutor. Her mother could teach her all she would need to know as a royal wife, who must preside over a great household. Even Lady Salisbury could not teach her this, despite the Plantagenet blood that flowed in her veins. "There are so many things that I can learn from you," she reminded her mother.

Katherine nodded, conceding this point, though she didn't know if Henry would be convinced by this argument. If anything, she feared that he might prefer not to allow her to spend as much time with Mary as they both wished her to. There were times that he seemed to believe that she was setting out to influence their daughter against him, when nothing could be further from the truth.

He would never believe her if she told him of her efforts to reconcile Mary to his marriage to Anne, and to the fact that little Arthur had supplanted her as heir to the throne.

"Do you think that I should ask him?" Mary ventured, when her mother did not voice a promise to petition her father to allow her to remain at court. If she wanted to convince him that she was no longer a little girl, that she was a young woman of an age to leave the schoolroom and the nursery palace of Hatfield behind, perhaps it would be better for him to approach her father directly, instead of relying on her mother to ask on her behalf, as a little girl would.

If she asked him, he would surely deny his pearl nothing.

"No, Mary," Katherine responded quickly. She could imagine, all too easily, how Henry would react if Mary appealed to him directly. He hated to be put on the spot and was likely to be angry with her for approaching him on the matter after he had made his wishes plain to her. It would devastate Mary to hear her father tell her that he did not want to have her with him. She sighed, knowing that there was only one way in which she could keep Mary from asking the question, when the answer would only bring her pain. "I will ask him, sweetheart," she promised.

Mary's answering smile was dazzling, and she caught her mother in an impulsive embrace.

"Thank you, Mama! I know that Papa will say 'yes'. I know it!"

Katherine's heart was heavy as she returned her beloved child's embrace, wishing that she could share Mary's confidence about Henry's reaction.

* * *

Arthur squealed with delight as the horse trotted slowly around the enclosure, thrilled to be riding a _proper_ horse for the first time.

His hobby horse was dull and tame next to this!

Henry kept a firm grip of his son with one arm, holding the reins in the other hand as he guided their mount. Arthur's plump fists clutched the reins tightly but the horse was too well-trained to be distracted by the touch of anybody save his master, and ignored the boy's light tugs. Henry felt stronger today than he had in weeks but knew that he was still not ready for a hunt or a gallop. The fever was gone but his illness had sapped his strength and Dr Linacre warned him that it might be several months before he felt like his old self again and cautioned him against over-exertion.

He hated feeling weak and tired but he knew that the wisest thing for him to do would be to listen to his physician's advice. It would do him no good to sap his strength and prolong his recovery.

After his meeting with the Dukes of Norfolk and Wiltshire, and Master Cromwell, he felt that he needed to be with his true wife and child, out in the open air, where that toad Chapuys and his spies could not observe their every move and eavesdrop on every word they spoke, ready to send the Emperor missives filled with poison about Anne and perhaps even little Arthur.

Unable to enjoy his usual sports, he had decided that today would be Arthur's first riding lesson.

Anne, unable to ride until she was safely delivered of their second son, watched from just outside the enclosure, applauding lightly whenever they passed her by. Lady Bryan, together with two of Anne's ladies, Nan Saville and Madge Shelton stood with her. Lady Bryan kept an eagle eye on her little charge while Nan and Madge exclaimed over what a big boy the Prince was getting to be.

Arthur was delighted to have an audience, blowing kisses to his mother and bouncing in the saddle whenever they came near her, despite Henry's gentle admonitions to sit still.

To his credit, he was doing his best to remember everything Henry told him, sitting up straight, keeping his head held high, as his father did, and always holding the reins with at least one hand.

When he was younger, Henry thought that, when he became a father, he would be the one to teach his sons to ride, something his father never did for him. Once he became King, however, he soon learned how great the demands on his time would be and knew that he would not be able to do all the things he wished to do with his sons. With Cardinal Wolsey dead, his time was even less his own than it was before. A riding master would have to be engaged to teach Arthur to ride his first pony and that man would be the one who would be able to watch every step of the little boy's progress. Other men would teach him to fence and shoot and joust, while Henry would have to content himself with watching occasional displays of his son's athletic prowess.

There was no doubt in his mind that his son would be a great athlete one day.

He might have been named for his uncle but he was strong and healthy, like his father. Although less than three months had passed since his second birthday, he was already tall for his age and sturdily built. Henry could remember that, when he was a very small boy, his nurse often complained about how quickly he outgrew his clothes – something that was doubly inconvenient, as the allowance his father supplied for the nursery of his younger children was not particularly generous. Arthur never had that problem, given how often Anne ordered new clothes for him.

Knowing that it would thrill the little boy, Henry guided his horse into a canter, circling the enclosure a couple of times. Arthur squealed in delight, his little fists tightening around the reins.

When the horse slowed to a stop, Henry dismounted, lifting his pouting son down from the saddle.

"I want to go again!" Arthur protested, dismayed that their sport ended so soon. Lady Bryan caught his eye, giving him a reproving frown to remind him to be on his best behaviour around his Mama and Papa, so they would know that he knew how to behave as a Prince should. He subsided but he thought that his governess couldn't understand why he was cross.

Lady Bryan always rode in carriages and litters instead of on a horse because she was an old lady.

He was going to be a man soon and a man needed to be able to ride a horse.

"Tomorrow, my son, if you are a very good boy and do as Lady Bryan tells you," Henry promised. He would have liked to continue the lesson longer but even his short ride with Arthur left him feeling more fatigued than he liked. It was also a little chilly today, even for May, and he told himself that he shouldn't keep Anne standing outdoors too long.

It was for her sake, not for his, that they must go indoors.

"I'll be good," Arthur promised, as gravely as a little judge.

"Good boy," Henry ruffled his son's hair, handing the horse's reins off to a stable hand and leading Arthur out of the enclosure. "If you work hard, and listen carefully to everything that I – and your riding master – teach you, you will be a great horseman. Maybe you can help teach the Duke of York, when he is a big boy like you," he added, thinking that it would be a great day for him when his sons were old enough to accompany him and his friends when they went hunting.

"My bruvver."

Arthur knew all about the Duke of York.

Lady Bryan taught him a prayer to say so God would know to send his Mama another son. Arthur was such a handsome, clever little boy that his Mama and his Papa wanted a second son just like him. Everybody at Hatfield said that prayer every day at Mass, and Arthur said it at bedtime too, just in case God didn't hear him in the morning. Secretly, he hoped that his new brother would be a little less handsome and a little less clever than he was, since the Prince of Wales should be the best Prince of all, but the Duke of York could be second best.

Lady Bryan also said that, when he was a big brother, it would be his job to show the Duke of York how to be a good boy and do everything he was told, as a Prince ought to. Arthur thought that it would be more fun to show him how to be naughty so they could have lots of fun together but he wasn't going to tell Lady Bryan this. She would only scold him and spoil all of his plans.

"That's right," Henry said, bending down to kiss his son's cheek before handing him off to Lady Bryan. After a kiss from Anne, and a promise that she would come to the nursery later to read him a story, Arthur allowed his governess to lead him away. Once Arthur was gone, Henry offered his arm to Anne. "Let's get you inside, sweetheart, before it gets too cool for you." She tucked her arm through his, and they walked towards the palace, with her ladies trailing at a discreet distance. "I believe that our son is the most beautiful boy God ever made," he said quietly as they walked.

Anne nodded her assent. She never doubted this, not since the moment he was first placed in her waiting arms and she saw what a perfect child she and Henry had created through their love.

It was difficult for Henry not to think of his other sons when he spent time with Arthur.

Three of the five stillborn children Katherine bore him were boys. None of them could be christened but, before they were brought into the world, before it became clear that their hope of a strong Prince for England was doomed to be unfulfilled, he and Katherine spoke of the names they wished to give them. He favoured Edward, for his mother's father, or Henry for himself. Katherine would probably have liked to name their son for one of her kinsmen but she knew that England's future King could not have a Spanish name, and contented herself with suggesting good English names.

If he thought that it would mean that one of their boys could have lived, he would have allowed her to name him Ferdinand, if it pleased her.

Had their first son lived, he would be older than Mary now.

It seemed so cruel that they should be allowed to believe that they had been blessed with a healthy son, and allowed to celebrate his birth for almost a full month before he was snatched away from them. Perhaps God hoped that such a painful warning would not go unheeded. Had he recognised little Prince Henry's death for the divine warning it was, and known that he must separate from Katherine, he would have been spared the pain of the losses of their other children. It might even have been easier to set her aside back then, as her nephew was no more than a boy in those days, and had not yet been elected Holy Roman Emperor.

King Ferdinand of Aragon had allowed his daughter to live as a near-pauper in the English court for years after the death of her true husband, in the hope that Henry would take her as his wife and Queen, rather than bringing her back to Spain and finding a new husband for her.

Would he have bothered to intercede on her behalf if he knew that her marriage was to be annulled?

He saw very little of Henry Fitzroy during his brief life.

He knew that he would acknowledge the child as soon as he was told that he had a son. He named him for himself and his father, and gave him a surname traditionally borne by the sons of Kings so that there could be no doubt in anybody's mind that this beautiful, healthy boy was his child. He wanted every man, woman and child in England to know that it was no fault of his that they had no Prince of Wales to look to as their future sovereign. He was more than capable of fathering a boy.

The celebrations in honour of Fitzroy's birth were almost as lavish as those that marked the birth of a Prince and he gave orders that a household should be formed for his son at Durham House. Even as a tiny baby, his son presided over an establishment that any lord would be proud of. He received regular reports of Fitzroy's health and progress but visited him only once or twice during his infancy. As soon as the little boy was old enough to be trusted to behave himself during the ennoblement ceremony, he invested him with the title of Duke of Richmond and Somerset.

He intended that the ceremony that served as his son's court debut would be the first of many visits to court, whether Katherine liked it or not.

He knew from Wolsey that she took it as an affront that he should lavish such honours on an illegitimate son but he had no intention of abandoning his plan to ensure that his son would have an honoured place at his court in deference to her feelings. At the time, he was confident that it would not be long before his marriage was annulled and Katherine left his court. He was certain that Anne would have made Fitzroy welcome, loving him for his sake.

His son's death devastated him but his loss made him more determined than ever to be happy with Anne and to have a family with her.

Now, after little over three years of marriage, they had a fine healthy son and another on the way. Their union was clearly blessed by God, and other children would follow, lovely little princesses as well as strong, handsome young princes. In time, their daughters would be the wives of some of the greatest princes in Christendom, and their grandsons might sit on other thrones.

Henry knew that he would love every child Anne gave him as much as he loved Arthur.

Instead of taking Anne back to her apartment, Henry decided to dismiss her ladies for the rest of the afternoon and take her to his quarters instead. Most of the time they spent together was spent either outdoors or in her apartment, so it seemed only fair that he should be her host today.

He gave orders that their meal should be brought to them and, while they waited, he sat down on the window seat, tugging Anne into his lap rather than letting her sit by his side.

"You're showing now, sweetheart," he murmured, awed, as he laid a gentle hand on the curve of her belly. They would be able to make the announcement any day now. "What shall we call him?"

"Henry?" Anne was surprised that he hadn't already decided to give their second son his name, especially as she had half-expected that this would be Arthur's name, before she was told that Henry had decided that their firstborn son should be christened after his late uncle instead.

"No." The response was immediate, brooking no argument. "Not Henry. That's what Katherine's son was called, and my other son," he elaborated when he saw the puzzled expression on Anne's face at his reaction. "I won't use it for our son, not when we already have Arthur."

"Of course," Anne nodded comprehension, inwardly berating herself for her foolishness in not considering the implications of the name. He was right; when their Prince of Wales was named Arthur, it would surely tempt Fate to christen the Duke of York Henry. She ruled out her other idea, as calling their son Edward would surely invoke memories of the lost young King Edward, Henry's uncle. The name of his other dead uncle, Richard, was completely out of the question. "What about Charles?" She suggested, thinking that he might like to name their son for his dear friend, though she suspected that Brandon's opinion of her was none too high.

"For the Emperor or for my Lord of Suffolk?" Henry grinned wryly as he imagined the Emperor's likely reaction if Chapuys was obliged to report to him that England's newest Prince bore his name. He was bound to be dismayed to hear that a second son was born of the union he had tried to prevent, another Prince to stand between his cousin and the throne he coveted on Mary's behalf. He would be justly served if Henry offered him the honour of being godfather, knowing that he would not wish to either accept the role or insult a fellow monarch by refusing. "It's worth considering, either way. There's also George." The name of Anne's brother, and England's patron saint would be a fitting choice for an English Prince with Boleyn blood in his veins.

"My brother would be honoured." Anne didn't add that her father and uncle were both likely to take it as an insult if their new son was named for George rather than for them. They would not dare to raise the issue with Henry – to his face, they would call it a great honour to the Boleyn family – but she was certain to have to listen to their complaints. However, after the trouble they caused her when they tried to keep Mary from court, she was not minded to spare their feelings.

Henry was thinking over his family tree to select another potential name when Sir Henry Norris, one of the gentlemen of his Privy Chamber approached, bowing. Norris clearly knew that his interruption would be unwelcome. His reluctance to intrude on their privacy was evident in every step he took. Heaving a sigh, Henry motioned for him to come closer.

"What is it?" He made an effort to keep the impatience from his voice. Norris was a good man who served him well. He would not wish to interrupt him if it could be avoided and, if there was good cause for it, Henry didn't want to snap at him for something that could not be helped.

"The Queen has come asking to speak to Your Majesty." Norris' gaze flickered in Anne's direction as he delivered his message. He hated to think that he was the cause of any discomfort for her, however small. She was a good lady, one known for her interest in the true religion, and he thought it a great injustice that so many people should deride her.

"Has she?" Henry scowled, knowing exactly what Katherine must wish to speak to him about.

He might have known that Mary and Lady Salisbury would go straight to Katherine with the news that he wished Mary to return to Hatfield, where she belonged. It was also no surprise to him that Katherine would presume to complain about his decision to send Mary away. When he first commanded that the girl should accompany Arthur to Hatfield, Katherine tried to persuade him to allow Mary to remain at court, as though he was not honouring their daughter by permitting her to share the household of the Prince of Wales.

Anne shifted in his lap, half-rising but he held her to him.

"No, sweetheart," he said firmly, drawing her back down on his knee and keeping his arm around her. "You stay where you are. You don't need to move for _her_." If Katherine was going to presume to interrupt them, she should not expect them to feign distance in deference to her feelings. Anne's rightful place was by his side and he had no intention of hiding his love for her. He nodded permission for Norris to admit his visitor. "Tell the Lady Katherine that she may enter."

Henry hoped that Katherine would be taken aback when she entered to find Anne sitting on his knee but she did not allow a flicker of emotion to show. He had to give her some credit for that, however begrudging. She was a mistress at concealing her feelings when she needed to.

Katherine's curtsey was deep and grateful. If it offended her that Anne was sitting so close to Henry that she was effectively curtseying to her as well, she did not show it.

"Your Majesty, I have come to speak to you about our daughter, Princess Mary."

Katherine saw Henry stiffen slightly at her pointed use of their daughter's title and, although she sighed inwardly at the sight of his frown, she knew that she was right to use it.

However much it might anger Henry to know that his attempt to annul their marriage and strip their daughter of her royal title had failed, obliging him to content himself with the compromise the Holy Father had allowed, he had to accept it. Mary was a Princess of England, the eldest daughter of the King, and Henry should not try to compromise their child's position because he had not been allowed to render her illegitimate. As a Princess of England, her place was at court and it was Henry's duty to find her a royal husband who would be worthy of her. He could not allow himself to ignore Mary's rights because he was angry with Katherine for not surrendering her rightful place.

"I trust that Lady Salisbury is seeing to it that Mary is made ready for her journey to Hatfield?"

"Lady Salisbury is overseeing Mary's packing, and will send a rider on to Hatfield to let Sir John know that the household should prepare for her arrival." Katherine had not needed to give any instructions on the matter, nor had Lady Salisbury needed to confirm to her that she would make the necessary arrangements. Mary's governess knew her duty well, and would be carrying it out as they spoke, despite Mary's belief that her father would relent and allow her to remain at court. If Henry could be persuaded to grant their daughter's wish, her trunks could be unpacked and a message sent to Sir John Shelton, Anne's uncle and steward of the children's household, to let him know that Mary would not be returning after all. It would be worse if Henry remained adamant and arrangements were not made. "However, our daughter has asked me to intercede on her behalf."

Henry snorted in derision, thinking that Mary chose her spokeswoman poorly.

What possible right had Katherine to expect that he would allow her any favours, when she and Chapuys and perhaps even Mary took advantage of his illness to plot against his true family, trusting that the Emperor would help them usurp Arthur's birthright on Mary's behalf?

If Katherine was not the aunt of the most powerful monarch in Christendom, she would be sitting in the Tower now. Chapuys would be on his way back to Spain, even if Henry had to drag him to the dock and force him aboard the ship. Perhaps even Mary would benefit from a spell in the Tower, to cure her of any ambition she might have to sit on her half-brother's throne.

"Has she?" His tone was mocking. "And what does your daughter ask of me?"

"Our daughter, husband," Katherine corrected him quietly. His frown turned to a scowl at the fresh reminder that, despite his wishes to the contrary, she was still his wife. Her errand was a lost cause. Henry's mocking voice and the spiteful gleam in his eyes made it clear that he would refuse her request, and take pleasure in doing so. She had given her word to Mary that she would ask, and she had no intention of breaking that promise but it would do them no good. If anything, it might even prolong the time that would pass before Henry deigned to allow their daughter to visit the court. "Mary is no longer a little girl in the nursery. She is a young lady now, of an age to marry. She thinks, and I agree, that it is time for her to leave Hatfield and live at court."

"Princess Mary _is_ growing older," Anne spoke up from her perch on Henry's knee. The exchange between Henry and Katherine was an uncomfortable one to witness and she hoped that she would never see Henry glare at her the way he was glaring at Katherine. She also wanted to make Katherine understand that it had not been her wish to keep Mary from court when Henry fell ill. It would not be long before Mary was married and, until then, Anne was sure that she could tolerate a little sullenness from her stepdaughter. As difficult and painful as it was for her to be parted from Arthur, it must be worse for Katherine when she knew that England would not be Mary's home much longer. "Perhaps it is time for her to live at court."

For answer, Henry moved her so that they were sitting almost face to face, turned away from Katherine as though she was not present.

"There is something that I have been meaning to speak to you about, my lady," his tone was not harsh or unkind but there was a chilly formality to it. "I understand that, during my illness, you initially sent for the Prince of Wales to come to court, you did not send for my daughter, who remained at Hatfield, and was brought to court later, on your orders."

"Your Majesty…" Anne didn't know how to respond to this, especially in front of Katherine, and when she had no way of knowing which of our foes brought the news to Katherine.

She was angry with the men in her family for the position they had put her in but that did not mean that she wished to expose them to Henry's anger by telling him that her father and uncle had countermanded her orders, and that her brother obeyed them, even though he knew her wishes. If nothing else, he would be furious with them for undermining her authority as Regent. She also didn't want to reveal to Katherine that her relatives routinely ignored her wishes when they did not conform to their own. She couldn't reveal that kind of weakness to her.

If Henry had to take her to task for this, why did it have to be in front of Katherine?

"Your father tells me that he and your uncle believed that it would be for the best if our son was brought to court, and Mary remained at Hatfield but that you insisted that she be sent for," Henry said, apparently not actually expecting any kind of explanation from her. "I hope that nobody tried to make you feel as though you _had_ to send for Mary." He didn't even wait for Anne to shake her head before turning to meet Katherine's gaze, in case she was in any doubt that his remarks were at least as much for her benefit as for Anne's, if not more so. "I know that you thought that you were doing the right thing but you should have left the girl where she was. Only Prince Arthur should have come to court. Mary belonged at Hatfield."

Henry could feel Anne stiffen in his arms and saw that her cheeks became flushed with embarrassment for a moment before her face grew pale again.

Anne's father had confided in him that he had thought that it would be for the best if Arthur was the only royal child brought to court, under the circumstances. Boleyn didn't allude to the fact that they had had just cause to fear for Henry's life, as he could not speak of the death of the King, but he didn't need to. Henry could easily imagine what his father-in-law must be thinking, knowing that, Boleyn would have known that, if the worst came to the worst, he had a duty to defend his grandson's rightful claim to the throne and his daughter's rights as Regent.

Now that he knew what Katherine and Chapuys were plotting, Henry believed that it was wise for Boleyn to recognize the potential harm to Arthur if Mary was brought to court, and was in a position where she could court support, or where her mother could have Chapuys smuggle her out of the country so that the Emperor could lead an invasion to place her on the throne.

Anne was trying to maintain a cordial relationship with Katherine, not realizing that the woman would stab her in the back if she thought that, in so doing, she could make Mary Queen of England. She must have thought that, for the sake of peace within the royal family, she should permit Mary to come to court – and, if he was truthful with himself, Henry had to admit that he was pleased to see his daughter after he woke. However, now that he knew that Katherine could not be trusted, he knew that, should anything happen to him, God forbid, it was imperative that Mary should be kept away from court and under guard until Arthur was safely enthroned as King.

"You should listen to your father next time, my dear. He has your interests, and the interests of our son, at heart." Henry kissed Anne's cheek, to show her that he was not angry with her, before returning his attention to Katherine, and studying her expressionless face. He thought that, if he could see some sign of contrition or fear, his anger towards her would be lessened slightly. At least then, he could know that she knew that she was caught out, and recognized her mistake.

Did Katherine think that he was unaware that she had plotted against his heir?

Did she believe that he was fooled into believing that, whatever quarrel they might have, she was loyal to him and to England and would not allow her ambition for Mary to overrule this?

Or was she so confident in the power of her nephew that she thought that it didn't matter that he knew of her treasonous intentions, as he would not dare to punish her?

"Though perhaps you are right, madam," he said thoughtfully, amused to see the hope that lit up Katherine's face at his words. "Perhaps it is time for Mary to leave Hatfield. The Prince of Wales is getting to be a big boy, and should not be sharing his household with his sister. Before he returns, Mary should leave Hatfield." He paused, just long enough to allow Katherine to hope that he would yield to her pleas and allow Mary to live at court, where her mother could poison her against his true wife and son, encouraging her to covet Arthur's inheritance. "I will give orders for a new household to be established for Mary, at Hunsdon House."

Hunsdon was a fine manor, one where Mary would be comfortable, but it would not be as grand as Arthur's establishment. More importantly, it was also further from London. Katherine would not be able to make regular visits, would not be able to poison Mary's mind any more than she already had. Any letters exchanged between them must be intercepted and read, so he could be certain that Katherine was not taking advantage of Mary's love for her mother to turn her against her father. Katherine might be a traitor but he would not allow her to turn Mary into one.

It pleased him to see Katherine's face fall as she registered what he said, knowing that she must be calculating the distance from to Hunsdon and realizing how infrequent her visits would be.

"Henry, I don't think that…"

He squeezed Anne's hand to signal that she should be silent. However well-meant her intervention might be, he had no intention of allowing her, or anybody else to sway him.

"You may tell Mary that she need not take her leave of the Princess Consort and myself," he told Katherine, thinking that the last thing he needed or wanted was to allow Katherine the opportunity to parade Mary before him, especially in front of the court, hoping that she could embarrass him into letting her have her way and keeping Mary at court. He also had no wish to be faced with his daughter's tears, knowing that, if he wanted to protect Arthur's rights as his heir and guard against the possibility of civil war, he must harden his heart against Mary.

It took all of Katherine's self-control not to rail at Henry for his callousness.

Even Anne had no quarrel with the idea of Mary remaining at court, so the only reason Henry could have for refusing her request was spite. He was so determined to show his contempt for her that he was willing to hurt Mary to hurt her, knowing that it would break her heart to know that her father did not want her with him.

She remained calm, dipping a perfect curtsey. "If that is Your Majesty's wish, I will inform our daughter of your decision," she said steadily.

"Do so." Henry waved her away as dismissively as if she was a servant. He watched Katherine leave, feeling a mixture of satisfaction at showing her that he was master in his own court and would not be dictated to by her, and regret at the thought that it was necessary for Mary to be hurt. Once his daughter was settled at Hunsdon House, he would send her a gift of a painting or a tapestry or something of the sort, so that she might know that he still cared for her.

As soon as Katherine left the room, Anne stood, moving several paces away from Henry and looking at him with reproachful blue eyes.

"How could you do that?" She demanded, offended on Katherine's behalf as well as her own. Henry had no right to use her against Katherine like that, embarrassing them both with his staged reproach. His determination to send Mary away was also troubling. What had she and Katherine done that he should be so determined to separate them without delay? She moved her hand away when Henry reached for it to draw her towards him. "Why did you do it?"

"Sweetheart," Henry's tone was soothing, "you do know that I'm not actually angry with you for what happened with Mary while I was ill, don't you?" He asked, thinking that Anne might believe that his mock-reproach was genuinely directed at her rather than being the means by which he made his point to Katherine.

"Maybe you should be." What kind of Regent was she if she couldn't get her own family to obey her on such a simple matter? She should have known better than to trust her father and uncle. "You were very ill and Mary was worried about you. She deserved to be here to see you."

"No, sweetheart, she didn't." Henry sighed, rising and moving to take his wife in his arms, holding her firmly to still her protests. He had hoped to spare her but he couldn't allow her to think that he was angry with her, or that he was being overly harsh with Mary. "I have had disturbing reports from your father and uncle, and from Master Cromwell, my love. Some of Ambassador Chapuys' letters to the Emperor were intercepted, and there is reason to believe that he and Katherine were plotting to see to it that, if I died, Mary would be Queen. They dared to plot against our son!"

He would strangle Katherine and Chapuys with his bare hands, and marry Mary off to the humblest country squire in England, before he allowed his son to follow in the footsteps of his mother's little brothers, becoming the third Prince in living memory to lose his life in the Tower.

God alone knew what would become of Anne if Katherine succeeded in her plot to turn their bastard daughter into a pretender to the throne.

No matter what happened, he would protect his true family.

Anne's face became ghost-pale as she listened to his words, knowing the danger this plot represented as well as he did. "Why didn't they tell me?" She was Regent and, more importantly, she was Arthur's mother. If there was a plot against her son, she had a right to know.

"They didn't want to worry you, sweetheart."

"I'm not a child!" If she was ever again called upon to act as Regent, Anne intended to be Regent in fact, not just in name. She would not be a puppet for her father and uncle.

"No, but you're carrying our child," Henry reminded her. "They didn't want you to be troubled by this, for the sake of the Duke of York. They meant well, sweetheart."

Anne didn't share his certainty but didn't argue. "What will you do?"

"I'm going to see to it that you and our son – our _sons_ – are safe, and that Katherine's daughter doesn't threaten their rights as my heirs," Henry vowed.

He wanted to tell her that he was going to see to it that, before the Duke of York was toddling, she would be Queen of England. He wanted to promise her that she would not have to endure the status of second wife much longer, and that Katherine would soon be banished from court. He wanted to be able to guarantee that Mary would be officially recognised as illegitimate and unfit to be included in the line of succession, so that she and Katherine would know that she would never be Queen. He wanted to tell her that he would, at last, be able to fulfil the promises he made when he first asked her to be his wife, not realising the obstacles that would be set in their path.

He decided against telling her.

He hoped that the situation would be resolved within a year, or perhaps a little more than that but he believed the same thing about the annulment of his marriage to Katherine.

He would not raise Anne's hopes as long as there was a chance that they would be dashed.

"Do you trust me?" He asked instead. Anne didn't hesitate before nodding, and he smiled to see it. "Then trust me when I tell you that I will find a way to make everything alright for you, for me, for our sons and for England. You don't need to worry. I will take care of everything."

* * *

Thomas Boleyn, Duke of Wiltshire, occupied a large, opulent suite of rooms overlooking the courtyard.

He watched from his window, a goblet of wine in one hand, as Lady Salisbury gave directions for her young charge's belongings to be carried to the carts, while the carriage waited to take them back to Hatfield. Madam Mary stood to one side as her governess made the final arrangements for their journey, a sullen expression on her face. He would have liked it if she looked up, if she could see him watching and know that he rejoiced to see her sent away from court.

He had had his doubts about whether or not he should tell the King that he was the one to command that the girl should be kept away from court but decided that, as he was likely to hear of it sooner or later, from Chapuys if not from Katherine, it would be as well for him to tell the story. That way, he could ensure that the King heard the version he wished him to hear.

The King was not angry with him.

Instead, he praised him for his good sense and foresight, commending him for keeping the welfare of the Prince uppermost in his thoughts – something Anne would do well to remember when he next sought to advise her. She was fortunate that the King had recovered or her misguided sympathy for her stepdaughter could have given the girl the opportunity to seize the throne.

He knew that it would not be as easy as the King might hope to secure an annulment of his union with Katherine. The Emperor was certain to protest against this fresh insult to his aunt, and the Bishop of Rome was unlikely to be willing to revisit the issue. It was also likely that the people would be unhappy, perhaps even angry, to learn that Katherine and her daughter were, once more, in danger of losing the titles by which they had been known for so long, though Arthur's birth meant that they were unlikely to respond as vehemently as they had the first time.

He estimated that it would take several years, at minimum, for them to accomplish the King's desire but he was certain that it would happen, in time.

In time, Katherine would be told that she was never the King's lawful wife and that she must yield her title to Anne, the true Queen of England.

In time, Madam Mary would learn that she was a bastard with no right to the title of Princess and that, instead of anticipating marriage to a great Prince or monarch, she must think herself fortunate if the King supplied her with a dowry sufficient to convince an English lord to deign to wed a bastard.

He smiled broadly at the thought of the ladies' reactions to the news, knowing that they must believe that their blood tie to the Emperor kept them safe in their pretended positions.

When the time came, he prayed that the King would allow him the pleasure of being the one to tell them that they were wrong.


End file.
